


Devil's Vein

by kasviel



Category: Living Dead Dolls
Genre: Demons, Horror, Undead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 71,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28088322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kasviel/pseuds/kasviel
Summary: This is a story that is based on Mezco's "Living Dead Dolls" line of horror dolls. I've been a collector of them for many years and I enjoy their dark stories, the humor, the characters. The original series seems to be canceled now, in favor of licensed properties, which is a shame. This story is based on the characters from the "Devil's Vein" run, along with Lou Sapphire and other assorted characters based on the dolls. There are also original characters (Nicole, Jackson, Oliver and his family). This is pretty much a straight-up horror story, my attempt at a Stephen King-style tale. There is violence and murder, stories of death (including children), and offensive language. Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy it.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

Nicole was roused from sleep only minutes before the car passed the city limits. She rubbed her eyes and when she opened them, she was greeted by the “Welcome to Wassen Hole” sign. The white letters were bright in the dark, foggy night, and they burned into her vision like the afterimage of a dream.

“Guess you're officially home now, darlin',” her husband said, turning from the road to give her a white-toothed grin. “Did you miss it?”

Nicole drew a deep breath, but the car was stuffy. She dialed down the heat and stretched, something popping in her spine. She brushed sleep drool and limp black hair off of her face. Her husband of five years, Jackson Wallace, laughed. She scolded him about keeping his eyes on the road, though she could not keep a rueful smile from her face. She knew Jackson's laughter was always affectionate rather than teasing.

“I never missed The Hole,” Nicole said. “We always called it that, all the kids that swore they'd die anywhere but there. Or The Shithole.”

“Hopefully, it's going to be The Coal Hole pretty soon,” Jackson said. “You read the survey reports yourself, that old mine of yours is still viable. We reopen that, and your little hometown is going to have itself a renaissance. You won't even recognize it.”

Nicole turned her head on her travel pillow and looked at him. Jackson had been driving since midnight, and now it was 6:16 in the morning. They had taken turns driving the rented car up from Nebraska after weather had made flying impossible. The entire trip had been plagued with delays, obstacles, and bad luck, but Jackson was not the kind of man to let fate take its course. The Texan believed that a man made his own luck, despite his inheriting his fortune and career from his father. Nicole mentally chided herself for that ungracious thought. Jackson was a good man, down-to-earth enough to have married her when she was just a mechanical engineer at his family's company, Entry Energy. Jackson was a rock solid man, as Nicole's father would have said, with a heart of diamond.

All of Nicole's father's wisdom centered around the earth and its natural bounties. He had owned a mining company in his early adulthood, until he was forced to shutter it to avoid bankruptcy. Since then, he had tenaciously clung to the industry, working at companies across the country at various low-level positions. He rarely sent home enough money to live off of. Nicole's hard-working mother died when Nicole was seven, forcing Nicole's father to return to Wassen Hole permanently. There, he had grudgingly worked enough hours to keep them fed, and drank the rest of his life and money away.

Nicole had sworn that she would live her life as far away from Wassen Hole as possible. Through grit, determination, and many sleepless nights, Nicole won an out-of-state scholarship. She packed her clothing into a few trash bags, took her savings from her after-school jobs, got in her used junker of a car, and left Wassen Hole right after her eighteenth birthday. She hadn't looked back since.

Five years ago, Nicole had met Jackson. She had grown up wary of marriage due to how it had destroyed her mother, but Jackson ultimately won her over. If she was brutally honest, the security his money brought greatly helped ease her marital fears.

“What's wrong?” Jackson asked. “You fall asleep again?”

“No, I was just thinking,” Nicole said with a yawn. “I haven't been home since I left for college. Sixteen years. It's been more than a decade and a half, Jack. I don't know what to think. Or feel. I just don't know.”

Jackson nodded, appropriately sober. Was he listening to her? His poker face was as inscrutable as his smile was earnest.

“I didn't even come home when my father died,” Nicole went on. “Did I ever tell you that? It was way before we met. I was in college. I don't even know how the hospital got my number. My father was hospitalized for cirrhosis, far too late for anything to make a difference. He lasted a year. I never even considered going home to see him. The lawyer had to fly out to get me to sign the papers and all that.”

“Is that when you inherited the mine?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, at least he left you a gift that'll keep on giving,” Jackson said. “There's that.”

“I guess.”

They were quiet. The car's headlights pierced the thick fog, illuminating the road that curled around the side of the mountain. Below, the indigo light of dawn was lost in a sea of fog and dense forest. Somewhere down there, Wassen Hole slept, oblivious to Nicole's return. She wished they would remain that way, but she knew they would all gather around like vultures to a corpse. The old women would whisper and gossip about her rich husband, the men would either scorn him or vie for his approval. Many of the young women would try to wrench him from Nicole's grasp. Who was she to deserve a Prince Charming, anyway?

_Yeah,_ Nicole thought, _who am I?_

Nicole shifted and smoothed down her hair and rumpled sweater. She felt dirty, all of a sudden. Her thick raven hair was all on end, her clothes were wrinkled, and she could smell sweat through the perfume she had paid an 'ungodly amount' for, as her father would have said. She glanced at Jackson, and almost hated him; his blond hair had barely a few strands out of place, his shirt hung perfectly on the body his personal trainer had sculpted to perfection, and he still smelled of soap and his leather and spice cologne.

_Who am I?_ Nicole wondered. She turned her face to the window, watching the mountainside foliage fly by. As a child, this was always a magical route, the way out of Wassen Hole. She had felt like a prisoner on the lam when she drove it herself for the first time at age eighteen, her trash bags of possessions in the backseat. Once she realized that no one would come for her and drag her back home, she had understood what freedom was. _That's who I am. I'm the one that got away. I think I was the only one that did. We all swore to get out, but I did it. None of the others did. Well, a few might have, but they had to die to escape. I lived. I survived. And I still escaped. That was all I asked from life. Jackson was a bonus. I didn't ask for someone like him. I didn't ask for anyone. But he was there, now he's here, we're here—here. Here … home. Home again._

Nicole shut her eyes and dozed. When she opened them again, she blinked against the glare of a red neon sign identifying the 'Heaven Peak Hotel'. High school kids used to brag about spending nights together here. The car went silent, the headlights went out, and the only light was that of the sign and the dark dawn. Some letters were blown out in the motel sign, so that it read, 'Heave Peak Hel'.

“We're almost there,” Nicole yawned. “Are you throwing in the towel?”

“We're not spending the night in this dump,” Jackson laughed. “Bathrooms. Water. Coffee. A whole lot of coffee. You coming out?”

“No, I'm good.”

“You sure?” Jackson asked. “When did you last pee?”

“Don't be gross.”

“It'll be grosser if you pee on yourself. _I'm_ about to pee on myself. Come on, darlin'.” Jackson unbuckled himself, then her. “Let's fortify ourselves for the drive down.”

“Shit.”

“I know, I'm a shit.”

“You're not a shit, this place is shit.”

“So you said.”

Jackson leaned over and kissed her. She smiled sleepily, stretched, and yawned, covering her mouth. Jackson didn't seem to notice or care about her morning breath. He stroked her hair and gave her another kiss before getting out of the car. She watched him hurry to the bathroom, long legs sweeping over the parking lot, eyes focused on his destination. He never looked anywhere but the place he was going. She climbed out of the car and attempted to do the same, but her eyes were drawn to the mountainside woods.

There were mines in the mountains, so many mines. She had always thought of the mountains as a beehive, honeycombed with tunnels. The few gifts her father had given her were historical accounts of the town in its heyday, when miners buzzed through those tunnels like so many worker bees. They mined for coal, nothing so sweet or golden as honey. Only once had gold been struck, and it had led to disaster.

Nicole drew a deep breath. The air was cold and her exhalation came out in a visible white puff. She slammed the car door shut and wobbled towards the motel on her red-soled high heels. High heels. She had laughed at the girls in high heels straight through high school. Now she only wore sneakers to the gym. Her roots were coming back to haunt her. She smelled snow on the November air and made a mental note to get a good pair of boots—not high-heeled fashion boots, but the real deal, ugly and able to withstand snow up to the knee. Even Jackson didn't know about the winters up here, he was from the healthy warm embrace of the South. He didn't know what it was to be cold, so cold you felt it in every bone …

Nicole went inside. The clerk was asleep, and too young to recognize her. She rang the bell as gently as possible to ask for directions to the bathrooms. The clerk blinked wide awake when he saw her, and she was amused by the awkward attempts not to stare. Nicole was not vain, but many others had forced her to be aware of her attractiveness. She was medium height, had generous hips and breasts, a flat stomach, and a soft oval face defined by high cheekbones that could aspire to beauty with a little makeup.

A little makeup? In the hotel bathroom, Nicole realized that she was too heavily painted for her hometown. She had thrown on a sweater and jeans without thinking how the cashmere and perfect tailoring would appear. Even rumpled, her black hair was glossy from her last salon visit, her makeup held its shape without running, and her expensive perfume permeated the air around her. Her eyebrows were plucked and shaped, her lips were red, and her teeth were Hollywood-perfect. If her past self had seen her now, she would have laughed and sneered.

Nicole splashed her face with cold water and scrubbed it with a paper towel. The waterproof makeup held its own, but she managed to get most of it off at last. Still, she could not see any trace of the girl that had grown up in the ancient house on the outskirts of the town. She looked like her mother, but much younger than her mother had looked at her age. She felt guilty for that. She felt guilty for all of it. It was easy to ignore those seeds of guilt, of unworthiness, when she was far from the town that had birthed her. Now, she had no choice but to face it. She had no choice but to parade her fortune before the eyes of those who would never taste a fraction of the comfort she had now.

Nicole went into a stall and shut the door. Her heels clacked too loudly on the cracked and peeling linoleum. She watched the flickering fluorescent bulb as she peed. There always seemed to be a weak bulb in the bathrooms in Wassen Hole. Nothing worked right in this town, and no one cared enough to fix the problems.

'TK + C' was carved into the stall door. There was a rudimentary bird and a fist carved beside the initials. There was something childish about it, unlike the other profanity-laden scrawls. Nicole wondered who the kids had been as she wiped, but had forgotten them by the time she flushed the toilet.

Nicole expected Jackson to be in the car, but he was nowhere in sight. She looked around the parking lot, breath clouding the air. She lingered outside the car, and the quiet filled her consciousness. She had lived in cities since college, and had forgotten how quiet these isolated corners of the country were. She looked up, and could see the sharp white pinpricks of the stars. The swaying treetops and the endless star-filled sky had been her only escape as a child. She would gaze into the void and think of how small the planet and its creatures were, and be comforted.

“Hey, dar—”

“Ah!”

Jackson stopped short at her exclamation. Nicole forced an exhalation, her heartbeat still thundering in her chest. Jackson walked up to her slowly and put his hands on her shoulders.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I'm just not used to the quiet,” Nicole said. “Stupid, I know. You startled me.”

“I think it's nice,” Jackson said. “Refreshing. Cold as fuck, but refreshing. The mountains are something else way up here, aren't they?”

“Yeah. Yeah, they sure are.”

“Sure is cold, though,” Jackson said, quieter than usual. “Let's get in the car. Your hands are freezing, darlin'.”

He rubbed her hands, so small in his, and then opened the car door for her. Nicole got in, buckled up. He was beside her in moments, the headlights snapped on, and the heat warmed them. Nicole rested her head on her travel pillow and turned onto her side as much as the seat allowed. She watched the trees fly by until she was rocked to sleep by the car's motion.

* * *

Nicole only woke again when a blast of cold air hit her skin. The car door was open. She looked up and Jackson was leaning down outside the car beside her. His hand brushed her hair out of her face.

“Home sweet home, darlin',” he said. “Let's get in and get in bed, all right?”

Nicole climbed out of the car, stiff from the long drive. The warmth of Jackson's company faded when she saw what lay ahead. Home sweet home.

“We should get a hotel,” Nicole said, still half-asleep. “This place is a—a shithole, like the rest of Wassen Hole. Been empty since dad died.”

“I told you, I took care of everything. Gas and electricity are back up, there's new furniture in most of the rooms, cleaning service went through,” Jackson said. “It's all set. It's your home, darlin'. You own it, just like you own the mine.”

“So?”

“So everything that's yours is mine, and vice versa,” Jackson said. “You know all about me, my family, my stuff.”

“Your millions of dollars and thousand properties worth of 'stuff'.”

“My whatever,” Jackson drawled. “So I want to know about you. Your place. Your folk. Your town.”

“My coal mine.”

“Your everything.”

They thumped up the porch's steps. Wood creaked. Nicole drew back against Jackson at the sight of the screen door and the white door behind it. Memories of going in and out of that door flitted through her mind: with backpacks and lunch bags, waving to friends just outside, running from it to catch the school bus, and bidding her mother goodbye for the last time before the stroke took her. She had never wanted to enter this door again.

Jackson pulled open the screen door and its hinges squeaked shrilly. He got out his keys and unlocked the front door. Nicole figured that he must have had the keys mailed to him. Jackson never left a detail untended to. Why would he? His life was too fine for him to see the devil in the details.

They passed the threshold, and Nicole was truly home. It smelled of lavender and wood polish, but there was a whiff of old whiskey and dust—or perhaps she only imagined so. The small living room still boasted its ancient flower-printed furniture, the matching set her mother had been so proud of over twenty years ago, and her father's battered leather armchair. There were still the few mail-order figurines her mother had loved on the mantle, and the coasters her father never used were stacked up on the coffee table. All that was missing were the stacks of beer bottle-filled crates. Jackson put his fingers on a light switch.

“No, don't turn the lights on,” Nicole said. “Let's just go to bed. I'm done.”

“Gotta see if everything works.”

“Later, later.”

“Okay, darlin'.”

They went upstairs. The fourth step creaked loudly, as it had all of Nicole's life. On the top of the stairs, she glimpsed her old room's door. How many times had she slammed it? She turned away. They went into the last of three bedrooms on the second floor. This room had always been left empty, and Jackson had had new furniture brought in for them. Nicole had refused to use her parents' old room, or her childhood bedroom. She was relieved at how alien the third room looked with its new, modern furniture. She could pretend that she was anywhere, anywhere but home.

Nicole groaned and fell face-down on the double bed. She felt Jackson pulling off her shoes, then her jeans. She rolled over, in only panties and her sweater. Jackson leaned over the bed and they shared a deep kiss. She shivered, and he mistook her arousal for cold.

“I better get that heat going.”

“Oh, leave it. We can warm each other up.”

“I know I'm hot, but I ain't that hot, darling.”

Jackson winked and left. Nicole sighed and pulled her sweater off. The chill air hit her skin instantly and she burrowed under the comforter. The room was painted with dawn's indigo and black shadow. It felt strange to be going to sleep in the morning, but she was exhausted. Her thoughts were running wild, memories fluttering like butterflies in her brain. Home, home, back in The Hole …

Nicole pulled the comforter up over her head like a small child. The cold defeated the down-alternative filling. She heard the boiler rumbling down below, but the heat had not reached her yet. Cold. This house was always so cold. She had once blamed the many times her father let the gas get cut off, drinking the bill money instead. Now, she thought it was the house itself, that it drew the cold in, sucked the warmth out. It would always be cold here.

The door opened. For a moment, Nicole's breath caught. The door shut again. Footsteps. She knew it had to be Jackson, but she didn't dare call out to him. She wondered why not? Sometimes at night, she used to fear someone entering her room, but no one ever came. She had heard stories about girls whose fathers went into their rooms, but for all his faults, her father was not that kind of guy. Her mother was always too tired to do anything but collapse in bed after a day's work. No one had ever come into her room uninvited. Why did she still dread the opening of her bedroom door? Why did she still expect someone to creep in?

Nicole was just about to lift the comforter off her head when she realized that the footsteps were wrong. They were too small and soft, too quick. It sounded like a child running barefoot. Nicole's blood ran cold.

“Jack—J—Jacks—”

The bed creaked and she felt a weight beside her. She could not breathe. The comforter was suffocating her. She was about to choke when a hand reached under the covers and gripped her shoulder. It was a man's hand, strong and familiar. It was Jackson. She sighed in relief and pulled the covers off her face. Her husband's white teeth gleamed down at her in the dim light. Her nerves were singing with tension. He kissed her, and she used the opportunity to wrap her arms around him. Despite what he had said, he was very hot, physically; he radiated heat, as much as she seemed to collect coldness. She was young and the doctors said her circulation was fine, but she was often stricken by unexplained chills. A therapist she had ditched after a few appointments had once suggested the cause was psychological.

“Sure is chilly up here,” Jackson murmured. “You weren't kidding.”

“No.”

Nicole clung to him, though she suspected she was the one making Jackson cold. He had stripped at some point, but had left his tee and boxers on. This was no temperature to sleep naked in. He lazily squeezed her breasts, bottom, and then yawned widely. He was too tired to be sustained by lust, and Nicole was grateful. They fell into their usual spooning position, she making sure his arm was over her waist, hand clasped in her own. The heat finally reached the room, and their shivers ceased.

“Welcome home, darling,” Jackson whispered into her ear.

Nicole looked out the window at the rising sun. She shut her eyes, and tried to forget where she was. At last, she fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

“Energy. That is the bottom line. Can it be dirty? Can it be messy? Can it be destructive? Yes. Of course it can. Hell, man has made his living by dirty, dangerous forces since cavemen lit their first bonfires. But what's the alternative? What? Huddling in caves until the seasons grant us livable warmth? Trying to eke out resources from the unreliable forces of nature? That's what solar energy is, going back to the days of relying so heavily on the sun that you deify it, that it's the center of your whole world! Is that what God intended for us, those made in His image? Is that what we're supposed to go back to?”

The crowd gathered in the town hall murmured variations of “no”. Nicole smiled, staring at her shoes. Jackson sure could talk.

“You hear a lot of talk about green energy from these save-the-planet yahoos. They want to penalize real energy, that's all they want to do,” Jackson scoffed. “Carbon taxes, federal energy limits. What good would come from penalizing fossil fuel consumption? Wealth doesn't always trickle down, but I can guarantee you that fees always do. You know who's going to be paying for this fairy tale of a world run on clean energy? You. Decent hard workers like you good people. Isn't it hard enough just paying to keep your houses lit and warm, and also put food on the table? Not to mention all the necessities of a modern American home, your internet and your cable and all, which of course need more energy to run on. Do you really want to pay more for less energy?”

Discontent murmurs rippled through the crowd. As rich as he was, Jackson knew how to speak plainly, and he at least feigned understanding of the working man's plight. He also used the average American's healthy skepticism of the government to further his cause. There was nothing more offensive to those that sweated for their money than the idea of being cheated out of it.

“Do you want to be at the mercy of the climate? They always say it's changing, right? So how can we rely on the elements to keep us warm, to give us electricity?” Jackson said. “Without energy, humans are animals. We're clever, damn clever animals. But we're animals. Energy is what makes us more. Mastering it, condensing it, spreading it. Energy makes progress, more than ever these days, with the internet and all the electronic jobs. Everything is electronic. Even gas stoves won't run if they're not plugged in. You can't do nothing without electricity—without power, without _energy_. You pay enough, do you really want to pay more? Why? Out of some guilt over changing the planet? Shoot, humans been doing that since we started farming instead of gathering, since we burned those first fires. We were made to master our world, to use it, that's what we're here for, and that's what it's there for. Energy is our God-given right.”

Nicole could feel the enthusiasm of the crowd. She had seen Jackson talk many into accepting the encroachment of mining and drilling upon their lands. Nicole had grown up knowing cold, so she admired and agreed with his goals. At the same time, she was hesitant to birth a child that may very well inherit a planet drained dry. Resources never lasted. She knew that better than anyone. However, she knew the trade-off was worth it for anyone living in today's world. She saw energy as a basic human right, and she was damned if she condemned anyone for using it. It was easy to bemoan the depletion of the planet's resources while safely cocooned by light, heat, and a connection to the world at your fingertips. None of those needs could be fulfilled without energy, and like it or not, fossil fuels were still what powered most of man's world.

The public forum that Jackson had been invited to speak at ended around noon. Despite it being lunchtime, many lingered around Jackson. They buzzed around him like moths to a flame, and he made extravagant promises of restoring the town to its former glory. He was actually reiterating the optimistic adages of the advertising campaigns Entry Energy frequently engaged in, but he did it in a way that felt personal. A blandly enthusiastic voice-over sufficed for the commercials, but real people needed real communication. If anything, the detachment of the digital age had sharpened the need for person-to-person contact, at least in places like Wassen Hole.

The need for personal communication varied depending upon environment, Nicole had learned. Citizens of urban centers had less powerful cravings for human interaction, as they were glutted with a strong dose of it every day. They griped and grumbled, but she always felt that urbanites would not trade their lot for small town life. She did not blame them. There was something comforting about being engulfed in humanity and human creation; skyscrapers were monuments to the power of human will, and even the shabbiest apartment buildings, most crumbling slums, and bleakest abandoned buildings all stood as testimony that people had come, seen, and conquered. In any given derelict property, one could imagine its better days, imagine all those that had worn the building down as they lived their lives.

Even the loneliest urban property could not compare to the alien landscape of nature. Nicole had had to bite her tongue whenever lifelong city-dwellers would put professional photographs of nature as their phone and computer backdrops, sigh, and pine for a solitude they would never understand. Beautiful stock images could never capture the utter loneliness of the still forests, empty plains, and stoic mountains. If a picture was worth a thousand words, its subject would always be worth infinitely more, and what of the subjects which no words at all could define? That empty foreign world of nature was what drove the small town hunger for familiarity, honesty, and personal communication. It was too depressing to be surrounded by the apathy of the natural world without having trusted, loved people close at hand to face it with.

Nicole thought all of this as she mechanically smiled and greeted people who never would have acknowledged her in childhood. Jackson was by her side, but he scarcely noticed her—he never did when he was busy shilling for Entry Energy. That was fine by her, but she was beginning to be worn down by the crush of people. She had been a reserved, quiet child, and regarded as something of an alien threat herself. People surrounded by so much undecipherable nature tended to hate anything they could not define. She could not blame them, as she did not understand nor particularly like herself.

Jackson noticed her discomfort. He suggested that she get herself lunch and see if any restaurant owner would be so kind as to deliver some sandwiches to the town hall. Nicole was grateful for the chance to escape, and the crowd was thrilled at Jackson's generosity, despite their constant adherence to the idea that there was 'no such thing as a free lunch'.

The cold air blasted the scent of the crowd and Nicole's introspective thoughts straight out of her. She sucked it in deeply and opened her dark eyes upon the town. It was a flat landscape, the streets laid out with surprisingly sophisticated, if overly complex, symmetry. Traffic lights dangled from cords above Main Street's intersection, as cars lazily burred past. Nicole decided to leave the car, and went on foot down the street. Memories of traversing this road to the public library crossed her mind, and she smiled a little. Due to her father's drinking, Nicole rarely had internet access or a working cellphone, so she had utilized the library. It had been her refuge, and she would spend hours on the computer or in the stacks, trying to find books that explained the minutiae of how things _worked_. Her father had bitterly told her once that only two-year-olds were allowed to ask 'why' so often. She had stopped asking him, and eventually stopped asking her teachers when they rolled their eyes and got his same frustrated expression, but books never failed her. People always asked 'why', and more importantly, 'why not', and that was how humans had figured out so much stuff—that was how her child mind had seen it. So she had stopped asking questions and started plying herself with the knowledge other questioners had already uncovered.

Nicole stopped at the intersection, looking around at the available restaurants. The high school was nearby, so all the food joints had coalesced into a knot of competition. Nicole had grease-stained many copies of mechanical engineering books at the McDonald's on the corner, but she was now loathe to indulge in so many calories. Jackson would not appreciate a Big Mac, either; he could devour Texas-sized meals for show, but he was partially on the Paleo diet to maintain his (admittedly fantastic) figure, and he abhorred fast food. Nicole crossed a side road and stalked the street until she was relieved to find the Roadside Reason diner. The place had been established after the short-lived gold rush had made Wassen Hole into a respectable city. The diner's humble name was derived from the owners' desire to offer a reasonably-price option for those passing to and fro, as opposed to the opportunistically over-priced options on the main road.

The bell on the diner's door jangled. There always seemed to be a cluster of old men at the corner table on the left side, though Nicole knew these could not possibly be the same men that had dined there in her childhood. They glanced up, took stock of her, and then resumed their eating and mumbled discussions over the newspaper. No one was waiting for service, so Nicole went up to the counter to order. She recognized the man immediately: Robert 'Bobby' Harris, her best childhood friend and one-time high school crush. Nicole felt a pang in her heart when their eyes met. Amusement distracted her as she realized that she had a 'type'. Like Jackson, Bobby had blond hair, wholesomely handsome features, and soulful dark blue eyes. However, the years had not been kind to Bobby: there were parentheses beginning to ring the corners of his mouth, and his stomach was soft and starting to strain against his belt. She kept her eyes firmly on his, but he seemed to be aware of her observations, and tugged the apron up higher on his midsection.

“Nicole,” he said. “I heard you were coming back, but I—I mean—Wow, you look great, Nick.”

“I forgot anyone ever called me that,” Nicole laughed. “You look good, too, Bobby. It's great to see you again. You took over your pop's diner after all, huh?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah, I did,” Bobby said with a sheepish smile. “Football, you know, it … it would have been a pain in the ass trying to get on some college team. And my head was getting messed up. I might have ended up with that CV—what's it called?”

“CTE?”

“Yeah, that. Anyway, I kind of wanted to stick around here. And Kris got pregnant, you know. I was pretty lucky pop had this place. It's a piece of history, you know?”

Bobby was talking fast, the way he had when he talked his way out of trouble as a child. Nicole hated that he felt he had to defend his life to her. Who the hell was she? She wouldn't judge.

“Kris got—Wait, you and Krystal had a kid?”

“Yeah, we did.” Bobby rubbed the back of his hand across his eyebrow, smiled weakly. “Got pregnant, got married. We got two kids now. Oh, hey, here. That's Kris now and here's my baby girl. Well, she's five, but she's still my baby girl.”

Bobby took down one of the many framed photographs from the wall behind the counter. Nicole's stomach growled, but her curiosity outweighed her hunger. She stared at the photo through its grease-smudged plastic frame. Krystal Turner had been the most popular girl in school, a small-town beauty that everyone expected to move on to better things. Nicole had been jealous of her, doubly so after Krystal had started dating Bobby.

The woman in the photo was barely recognizable. She was still beautiful, there were no two ways about that, but she had also fleshed out and softened. Her clear blue eyes were a bit smaller, and she had cut her mane of pale blond hair to a sensible length. There was a determined light in her eyes, as if she were trying to defend her life with a smile just like Bobby had with his words. Defensive regret, Nicole thought. They were acutely aware of their wasted opportunities, of how they had never fulfilled the dreams they had boasted of as children, but they were damned if they let anyone else know it.

The little girl in the picture was the image of her mother in youth. Her smile was wide, toothy, and genuine. Her light blond hair was curly and long. Her blue eyes were still enormous and captivated by the world. Nicole smiled just looking at her. In the picture, Bobby and Krystal held her up between them like a beacon of the future. Behind Bobby's shoulder, Nicole spotted another figure, face turned from the camera, very pale.

“She's beautiful,” Nicole said. “Who's this? You said you had two kids, right?”

“Yeah.”

Nicole looked up, surprised by his sullen tone. Bobby smiled anemically. He took the photo back quickly and returned it to its place on the wall.

“That's just my first,” he said briskly, not meeting Nicole's eyes. “Oliver. He's actually around here somewhere. Usually is around this time, God knows why. So, uh, sorry, you probably came in here to eat, right?”

“Actually, my husband wanted to order some food for the crowd down at City Hall,” Nicole said. “And I could use a sandwich.”

“Nah, my old friend deserves more than a sandwich,” Bobby grinned. “How about the luncheon special? A double cheeseburger, salad, and the potato hash left from the breakfast run. I remember you always used to want the hash instead of fries.”

“Maybe just a single burger, but yeah, I still love hash browns,” Nicole grinned. “I'm surprised you remember.”

“Curse of being a diner owner's son,” Bobby winked. “Have a seat, Nick. I'll send some grub out to City Hall and personally cook that special right up for you.”

“You don't have to—”

“You kidding? It's what I'm here for. Make yourself comfortable, Nick.”

“Thanks.”

Bobby slung the dishrag he had been tossing from hand to hand over his shoulder and went through the kitchen door, shouting something. Nicole was still smiling as she found a seat by the window. She watched a few cars putter down the main road. Some kids passed the diner on their way from school to McDonald's for lunch. A group of smaller children tailed them, jumping over the sidewalk cracks as they went. Nicole heard them chanting a familiar rhyme as they passed:

“Devil's Vein, Devil's Vein, once you go in, you can't get out again, Devil's Vein … ”

The rhyme made her shudder. The kids in school had tormented her with that stupid rhyme ever since they were aware that her family owned the Devil's Vein mine. The rhyme predated her, and most likely her father, too. Its origin stemmed from the horrific accident that had occurred in the 1800s, the accident that had led the town to blast the mine shut early. Nicole had always found it grotesque that those deaths were now relegated to a silly rhyme.

“Devil's Vein.”

Nicole almost jumped, whipping her head from the window so fast she felt a twinge of pain. An adolescent boy stood next to her table. He had sandy brown hair, freckles across his nose, and very pale skin. His features were regular and would have been cute if he had been wearing any semblance of an expression. Long lashes framed very large sea green eyes. Without invitation, the boy sat at Nicole's booth on the opposite side of the table. He put down a thick craft notebook, opened it, and began drawing with a crayon. He had a pouch slung around his waist from which more crayons protruded. Nicole found herself at a loss for words with the boy.

“Devil's Vein, Devil's Vein, once you go in, you can't get out again,” the boy said flatly. “It's stupid, isn't it?”

“The rhyme?”

“Yes. It's stupid.”

“It's insensitive.”

“Yes.”

There was a silence between them. The boy's delicate white hand moved in circles across the page, filling it with dark violet scribbles. Was he an adolescent? He was quite short and very thin. He seemed more like a child than a tween. His brown hair fell over his eyes as he drew, hiding them. He seemed in want of a haircut and his jeans and tee were a little faded. Nicole recognized neglect when she saw it. She had been just as shabby before she decided to take care of herself, since no one would do it for her.

“They _can_ get out again,” the boy said.

“Who can?”

“The kids in Devil's Vein.”

Nicole's blood ran cold. The boy looked up, his round green eyes meeting hers. Realization lit the uncanny orbs and he stared unabashed.

“But you know that,” the boy said. “It's yours, isn't it? Devil's Vein belongs to you. You're the woman.”

“I-I'm Nicole,” she introduced herself. She forced a smile. “Yes, my father owned the mine. Now I do, I guess. My husband, Jackson, is going to reopen it. We're going to … to bring a lot of business to Wassen Hole. It's going to be pretty exciting, don't you think?”

The boy stared at her with that same inexpressive face.

“No,” he said softly. “You shouldn't do that. No. No. _No_. No, no, no, no.”

He was very quiet, but his brow furrowed deeply. He ran his crayon in vicious circles on the paper.

“They won't like it,” the boy said. “They won't like it! They don't want you to do that!”

“Please calm down. I'm sorry, I—”

“Oliver!”

They both looked up in alarm. Bobby was beside the table, a plate of food on his arm. He set it down gently before Nicole, then turned a furious look on the boy. The boy squirmed in his seat, his mouth turning down.

“Don't you go bothering Nicole, she's an old friend and she deserves respect, you hear me?” Bobby said. “And I'm sure she doesn't want to hear your nonsense about that mine.”

“It's not nonsense,” Oliver said, exasperated. He threw his crayon down. “Dad, they don't want the mine reopened. They're going to be angry.”

“ _I'm_ going to be angry if you keep talking that crap,” Bobby fumed. He grabbed his son's arm hard enough to bruise the pale, thin limb. “I don't care if you're thirteen, if you act like a child, I'll spank you like one, you hear? You want me to spank you right here in front of everyone?”

Nicole hated how Bobby's hand dug into the boy's flesh. She couldn't stand the idea of him striking him on her behalf. Hearing Bobby sound so paternal was surreal. It seemed not so long ago that he had been on the other end of such threats. She hoped that he hadn't laid the kind of beatings his father had given him on his own son, though she had a feeling he had. Oliver did not look particularly afraid, but he had the grim concern of a kid used to corporal punishment.

“Please, it's all right, he's not bothering me,” Nicole said quickly. “Bobby. Don't … Don't hit him. Please.”

Bobby looked at her, and shame overtook him. His eyes darted to a picture of his own father behind the counter. He flushed, ears turning bright red, and released Oliver. Oliver rubbed his forearm sullenly.

“I was just trying to scare him,” Bobby lied. “Oliver doesn't have a filter, he just says whatever he's thinking, and he thinks some crazy stuff.”

“It's not crazy.”

Bobby looked at him like he might make good on his threats and Oliver stared down at his notebook.

“Kris says he has the autism or something,” Bobby explained. “Don't let him bother you.”

“He's not bothering me, it's okay,” Nicole said. She rushed to change the subject. “This burger looks delicious. I guess cooking really does run in the family, huh?”

“Yeah, I always hated cooking, but it turns out it's a gift,” Bobby said, lighting up. “It doesn't feel like a chore anymore. It's different when it's your own place, you know?”

“It's awesome,” Nicole said through a bite. “Thank you.”

“On the house,” Bobby said. “No, don't argue. You're a friend, Nick. We were best friends, right? And I expect your hubby is going to be bringing me more than enough business to compensate for that burger.”

“That's the plan.”

“Come on, Ol. Let Nick eat in peace.”

“No, he can stay,” Nicole said. “It's fine. He's not bothering me.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

The door's bells jangled. A group of teachers filed in. Bobby gave Oliver a wary glance, then rushed off to take care of the new customers.

“Thanks,” Oliver said quietly. “He's hit me in front of other people here before. It's embarrassing.”

“Oh,” was all Nicole could say. She frowned down at the burger. If she had gotten together with Bobby, as she had once so desperately desired to, Oliver could very well be her own son. She wondered if Krystal was as outraged by the way Bobby treated him as she was.

“But I'm home-schooled anyway, so at least no kids are around to tease me about it,” Oliver said. He was drawing with his crayon again. “I'm still sore from last time, though. So, thanks.”

Nicole smiled sympathetically at him and resumed eating her burger. Truth be told, Oliver did disturb her a little. Those large green eyes seemed to watch things and worlds that were beyond her comprehension. He reminded her of a cat, especially now that his encounter with his father had left his mouth down-turned. She hoped that her defense of him would still his tongue about Devil's Vein.

“I wasn't trying to scare you,” Oliver said softly. He leaned his head on one hand, looking far more weary than any child should. “I'm sorry.”

“It's all right.”

“I just—” Oliver looked around to see where his father was. He blew out a sigh. “I see things. Feel things. And I'm too stupid to keep my mouth shut about them.”

Nicole could tell he was quoting his father. Despite her fear of his words, her heart ached for him.

“It's the kids,” Oliver said. “The kids that died in the mine. They're not at rest. Miss—Mrs—”

“Just call me 'Nicole'.”

“Miss Nicole, they're not resting,” Oliver said. “I'm sorry. I don't want to bother you. Dad will belt me if I bother you, so I'll just say it once, okay?”

Nicole's heart was racing, but she felt too sorry for the boy to dismiss him. Bobby was watching them, so she did not let her fear touch her face. She nodded and put a hand over the kid's spindly hand. He withdrew his hand as if a snake had touched it, though he did not look offended. Nicole figured he merely did not like physical contact, either due to abuse or his autism.

“Okay, Oliver.”

“The kids are there in the mine, and in the town,” Oliver said. “They make stuff happen. Just little stuff. They're not very strong anymore. But if the mine is opened, they will be. They'll be very strong. And they're angry. They're really, _really_ angry. This town killed them.”

“But it was an accident.”

“No.”

“What?”

“It wasn't an accident,” Oliver said. “I better go. I'm sorry, Miss Nicole. But please, the mine is bad. What's buried should stay buried. They … wanted me to tell you that. I'm sorry.”

Oliver picked up his notebook in his arms and rushed off. Bobby looked relieved. Nicole tried to still the shivers running through her. She kept hearing the sound of small feet running through her old house.

* * *

After lunch and some more small talk with Bobby, Nicole left the Roadside Reason. She walked down the street, and found Jackson alone outside City Hall. He was on his cellphone, but gave her a wink and smile. Once he hung up, she rushed into a demanding kiss. His mouth was warm and tasted of the mints he always ate after a meal. The familiarity and life of him eased the ominous feeling that had settled over her since meeting Oliver Harris.

“Whoa, what did I do to deserve that?”

“You're you.” Nicole kissed the corner of his mouth. “It's cold. Let's get in the car.”

“I ain't cold anymore, but okay.”

They climbed into the car and he blasted the heat. They pulled out of City Hall's parking lot, drove through the town slowly. Jackson wanted to see the whole of it, he was always that way with a new place. Nicole's nostalgia was darkened now, and she saw only endless cycles of sorrow in every childhood haunt.

“You okay?” Jackson asked. “You've been quiet.”

Nicole sighed. She stared out the window as she recounted her run-in with Bobby, keeping the fact that she had once crushed on him to herself. Jackson nodded, though he could not possibly understand why she was so perturbed.

“Lots of people still spank their kids, Nicole,” Jackson pointed out. “And things like autism don't matter a whole lot in places like this.”

“It's not just that.”

“It's not what the kid said, was it?” Jackson asked. “Come on, you don't believe in stuff like that. I married a woman of science and technology, last time I checked.”

“You did,” Nicole said, laughing. “No, I know, it's stupid. Oliver is just a confused child. I feel bad for him. But Devil's Vein has always creeped me out. It creeps all the kids out. It's a sort of legend. I thought I was over it, but I guess not.”

“What legend?”

“I never told you, did I?”

“You said there was an accident in the 1800s that forced the mine to close, even though it hadn't run dry yet,” Jackson said. “You didn't say more than that.”

“Because it's pretty gruesome.”

“I can handle gruesome history.”

 _Your family's wealth is built on a lot of gruesome history,_ Nicole thought. She scolded herself for being so judgmental. That was the same attitude that had led her peers to torment her. Even adults used to be wary of the girl whose father owned Devil's Vein.

“In 1817, there was an accident—”

Oliver's words flashed through Nicole's mind:

_'It wasn't an accident.'_

“There was an accident,” Nicole repeated firmly, trying to convince herself. “The town was very small back then, and they believed that hard labor was a wholesome, almost sacred practice. Nearly everyone worked in the mine, whole families, even the women and children. But in 1817, there was an accident. An explosion collapsed the mine tunnel, trapping five child miners inside. They died in there, and their bodies were never recovered. The mine has been closed ever since that accident.”

Jackson was quiet for a long moment. The scenery swerved as he drove the car around a bend in the road. Nicole could see the mountains now, the mountains that entombed those lost children to this day. She curled her hands into fists, fighting the shivers again.

“But the town prospered after that, didn't it?” Jackson asked. “You said the town didn't start dying off until the Great Depression.”

“There were some other mines, and the gold that was found before the collapse bolstered the local economy immensely for a long time,” Nicole explained. “But that's the reason Devil's Vein was closed off. A lot of superstition has come from that accident.”

_'It wasn't an accident.'_

“Anyway, it's good that we're going to reopen the mine,” Nicole said. “All that history can be laid to rest.”

_'They're not at rest.'_

“People can finally stop all that superstitious paranoia.”

_'They wanted me to tell you that.'_

“And something good can finally come out of that damned mine.”

The car skidded to a stop. Nicole's heart lurched and she gripped the car door's handle. Oliver stood just inches in front of the car's hood. He looked through the windshield, met her gaze. Then he shook his head and jogged across the street.

“That's him.”

“Who?”

“My friend's kid. Oliver.”

“I'm about ready to take him over my knees myself,” Jackson grumbled, easing the car forward again. “The hell was he doing in the middle of the road?”

“Trying to stop us,” Nicole muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Nicole drew a deep breath and exhaled. “Never mind. Let's get home, all right?”

“Sure thing, darlin'. That's enough of Wassen Hole for one day.”

* * *

The house felt different by daylight. Nicole's dreary memories were banished by sunshine. The cleanliness was more evident, and the heat had been left on to warm the place. The curtains were all drawn, so the view of the mountains looming over the rear of the house was blocked. For the first time, Nicole appreciated her old house's embrace.

“I know you said you want to sell the place after reopening the mine, but I like this house,” Jackson said. “We should maybe keep it. I bet Christmas looks real pretty out here with all the snow.”

“It's cold,” Nicole said. “Look, Jack, I know you're trying to humor me, but just admit it: you're slumming.”

“What? No, this ain't a slum,” Jackson said. “It's a sturdy old house and I like it. Okay, maybe I want to add in an extra bathroom and garage, but I think we should keep it. Can't you see us out here on Christmas, sitting by the fire, maybe a couple of rugrats near the tree?”

“Jackson, I told you, I'm not ready to talk about kids.” Nicole tucked some of her thick black hair behind her ear and looked away from him. “I don't even know if I want any. You know that.”

“Kids, dogs, cats, or just us,” Jackson said. “That wasn't my point. My point is just that I'd like to come out here sometimes. It feels nice.”

“Why? It's a small house in a small town. It's nothing. Nowhere.”

“It's _your_ where.”

Jackson embraced her from behind, his arms encircling her crossed arms. He rubbed her cold hands. She softened, leaning her head back on his chest. He drew the curtains in front of them, and the mountains came into view.

“I like history, you know that,” Jackson said. “I go on about my family's damn history often enough, right?”

“Too often,” Nicole teased.

“Exactly,” Jackson admitted, completely unapologetic. “History is important. The good, the bad, the ugly, it's all a part of who we are. No one can get rid of their history and no one should want to.”

“You're sentimental.”

“Maybe.”

“I'm not.”

“So sell the house and I'll buy it,” Jackson said. “Just so long as it's there to point to, you know? When the kids ask after their mama's heritage.”

“Kids again.”

“Sorry.”

Nicole twisted in his arms to face him. Jackson's hands slid lower and gripped her buttocks. She nestled into his chest, felt his lips press into her hair.

“Are you thinking about it?” Nicole asked. “Having kids?”

“I'm not going to lie, Nicole, it's on my mind,” Jackson said. He stroked her hair and tipped her face up by the chin. “Small houses are just so personal, you know? Don't laugh at me.”

“Sorry.”

“You're snorting.”

“Small houses!” Nicole laughed. “Jack, seriously?”

“All right,” Jackson muttered, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. He pinched her bottom. “Laugh. Go on. But I do like places like this, where you can just holler and hear your family call back. I woke up this morning and I could just picture it: my gorgeous wife beside me in bed, kids right down the hall, maybe one busts into the room to join us now and then. I didn't have that, Nicole. If I had a nightmare, the last thing I could do was run down those long-ass hallways to my parents' suite. They had a damn suite. Not a room, a suite. It felt kind of cold. Maybe I'm just a sentimental wuss, but I'd like my kids to never know that feeling.”

Nicole blinked in surprise. Jackson rarely confessed his emotions, and he usually idealized his childhood. It was disorienting to see him this vulnerable.

“ _If_ we have kids,” Jackson shrugged. “I told you before, it's up to you. I'm not trying to force you into anything. I know I said I wouldn't pressure you by talking about it all the time. I think I had some dream about kids last night or something. I woke up thinking about it.”

Nicole licked her lips and looked around the house. She thought of Oliver, shifting on bruises from his father's previous beating. She thought of her own father passed out on the armchair, or shambling about in an alcoholic stupor. She thought of the children buried in the mine on the mountain. She thought of a planet drained dry of every last light-bringing, heat-fueling resource. She felt cold.

“Not here,” she whispered.

“Hm?”

Jackson had been caressing her, nestling his face in her hair. She suspected that he had already forgotten their conversation. She arched against him, felt him hard against her thigh through his slacks.

“I'm not talking about, or making, kids here,” Nicole said. “We're going to sell it once we get the mine reopened. We can buy some other small house and then … then we'll see.”

“Works for me.”

Nicole kissed him, and they crushed into each other. They fell onto the sofa, tugging and pulling their clothes off. Nicole thought she heard footsteps on the ceiling, but then Jackson was inside her, she gasped, and all was forgotten.


	3. Chapter 3

It was late in the season for rain. Nicole glowered at the steel gray clouds hanging over the mountains. It used to snow in November in these parts, but it was three days from Thanksgiving and not a single snowflake had fallen yet. The cold rain made the ground around the Devil's Vein mine muddy, and made her lungs feel heavy. At least she had bought reassuringly ugly and practical boots by now, and a parka to go with them.

Devil's Vein had been reopened. Machinery was digging out the rubble that had clogged up the mine's opening so long ago. Jackson was conferring seriously with his people, while Nicole supervised the mechanical operations. The noise and cold rain were giving her a headache, however, and she was nearly ready to call it a day.

“You shouldn't be doing this.”

Nicole whirled around. Oliver stood before her. He looked childish in his big green coat, but his expression was that of an old man. Nicole bit her bottom lip, trying not to be angry at the troubled boy for startling her.

“Oliver, you can't be here,” Nicole said. “It's dangerous.”

“It's too dangerous to open up,” Oliver said. “Please, Miss Nicole, please, don't do this.”

“Oliver, if your father knew you were here—”

Nicole hated how old she sounded. She hated to threaten the kid. But he had been doggedly petitioning her to call off the mine's reopening for a month and she was growing tired of his eerie pleas.

“I don't care,” Oliver muttered. “This is too important.”

“Oliver, they're just scary stories kids tell. They're not true,” Nicole said. “Five children did die here in an accident, but they aren't haunting the mine. Ghosts don't exist. Curses aren't real. You're thirteen, you're too old to believe in that stuff.”

Oliver looked wounded and Nicole immediately felt guilty. He had a smaller child's imagination, and held to his beliefs with the fanaticism of the religiously devout.

“You don't believe me. No one does,” Oliver said. “I'll try to talk to the kids. Maybe they'll stop. I don't know. I'll try. I don't want you to get hurt, Miss Nicole.”

“No one is going to be hurt, Oliver,” Nicole said gently. “Please go home. You can't be out here. These machines are very dangerous.”

“The mine is dangerous,” Oliver said. “I wish you knew how dangerous it is.”

“Oliver … ”

“I'll try to talk to them.”

With that, Oliver turned and ran towards the surrounding forest. Nicole sighed, her head throbbing. She didn't want to get the boy in trouble, but she would have to speak to Bobby about him. There were enough problems with the weather and the rampant trend of mechanical failure plaguing the operation.

Nicole's migraine surged and she gripped her head in both hands. It took effort not to cry out. When she looked up, she saw another misplaced child in the rain. Had Oliver brought a friend this time? Did the odd boy even have friends?

Nicole stumbled towards the treeline. The slim white figure stood out sharply from the towering dark pines. It was a little girl, she saw as she neared. The little girl bore an uncanny resemblance to her, from the pale skin to the large dark eyes and pitch-black hair. Nicole squinted through her pain, blinking reactionary tears and raindrops out of her eyes. Something was wrong about the girl. She was not wearing a raincoat or even a jacket, just a floral-printed gray dress with a white pinafore. Did children still dress that way? Where were her shoes?

“Hey,” Nicole panted. Her lungs were tight with congestion. “Hey, little girl. Did Oliver bring you here?”

The girl stared. Nicole could not see any white in her black eyes. Her head was pounding viciously and she felt dizzy. It was difficult to breathe.

“It's cold,” Nicole said. “You need to go home. You'll catch—your death—out here.”

Nicole's head exploded with pain so sharp that it made her vision go white. She fell to her knees, crying out in shock and pain. Her ears were ringing. It was difficult to focus on the little girl, though she was only a few feet away. She did not look wet, though the rain was pouring all around her. The only moisture on her face were two streaks of ashen tears down either side of her face.

“Go … home,” Nicole pleaded. “You'll … get … sick.”

“Please don't hurt her.”

Nicole glanced up. Oliver stood over her. The small boy's protective stance was almost comical. Nicole reached up to him but her head pounded again and she gripped it in both hands.

“Please stop,” Oliver begged. “It's not her fault. They don't know.”

“Take her home,” Nicole told Oliver. “Both of you, go home. It's not safe.”

“I'll go with you,” Oliver said to the girl. “Fine. I'll go with you. Please just stop.”

“Go home,” Nicole murmured. Her voice was slurred from pain. “Both. Go home. It's cold. Too cold.”

“HEY!”

Nicole recognized Jackson's voice. He sounded furious. The soles of boots slapping on mud rang through her ears. She heard a heavier slap, a palm striking fabric. Jackson had pushed Oliver away from her violently. She wanted to defend the poor kid, but she could not speak. Her lungs ached and her head was burning with icy pain. She tried to stand and fell fully on the ground. Rain poured down her throat, choking off the last of her oxygen. _I'm dying_ , she thought, too shocked to be affected emotionally. _I'm going to die here in the cold water._

Her head tilted back and she saw the little girl upside-down. She looked mournfully satisfied. Nicole had a vision of a sealed chamber far below the earth, water dripping, oxygen running thin. She clawed at the ground, twisting, trying to escape. She could no longer see the sky.

“What did you do to her?”

“Nothing, I—”

“Get her inside, Jackson.”

“Yeah.”

Nicole felt herself lifted off the ground and coughed. It felt wonderful to be away fron the cold, wet earth. She tried to lift her head, but she could not. Before Jackson lifted it for her, she glimpsed Oliver staring down the little girl.

“I'll go with you,” he said. “Please stop.”

Nicole wanted to tell him not to go, though she did not know why. She managed to lick her lips, but could do little else. Her head pounded again, and then everything went dark.

* * *

Nicole came to in darkness. She rolled around, trying to dig her way out of soil. Then she realized that only sheets covered her. She gasped in the cool, fresh air greedily. Her limbs were rubbery, but they worked. She sat up and found herself in the bedroom she shared with Jackson in her childhood home. _Daddy's house. No. No, it's **my** house now._

Nicole climbed out of bed. She was only in underwear, so she went to the closet and quickly dressed. The heat was turned up high, but she still felt cold. Downstairs, she heard many voices chattering. A sharp crack made her jump, and she rushed out of the bedroom.

Jackson was in the living room. His face broke into a relieved smile when he saw her, and he took her in his arms.

“Thank God,” he whispered into her hair. “Thank God you're okay, Nicole. I was going to take you to the hospital if you didn't wake up soon.”

“I'm fine,” Nicole said, though this was far from the truth. Her lungs felt heavy and she was still somewhat dazed. “It was a migraine episode, I think.”

“Yeah, I figured as much, that's why I didn't let them call an ambulance. I know how much you hate being in the hospital.”

“Thanks.”

There was another loud crack. Nicole jumped. Jackson's embrace tightened.

“What is that?” Nicole asked.

“Uh, well, it's—”

_Crack!_

“Oliver,” Jackson said uncomfortably. “I didn't know what to do with him, so I brought him here. I had to call his father.”

Nicole began to understand. She winced when she heard another crack.

“He can't do that,” she said angrily. “Not in my house.”

“Nicole, it's not our business,” Jackson said.

Nicole began to argue, but it was too late. Bobby emerged from another room, buckling his belt. Oliver was beside him, his eyes red and his face tear-stained. He looked younger than ever. Nicole's heart twisted.

“He was just trying to help me,” Nicole said, unable to keep the outrage out of her voice.

“He wasn't supposed to be on the mountain in the first place, Nick,” Bobby said. He hit Oliver's shoulder. “Were you?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you help the little girl?” Nicole asked Oliver. “Did she get home okay?”

“What little girl?” Bobby asked. He glared down at his son. “Who is she talking about?”

“There was no one else there,” Oliver said quickly. “It was only me, right, Miss Nicole?”

Nicole's head swam. Had she imagined it? That was the most likely, given the strangeness of the girl's appearance. Yet Oliver seemed to know exactly who she was referring to. Why would he lie? How _could_ he lie after being punished so severely? Or would mentioning the strange girl get him into more trouble? Nicole couldn't bring herself to defy the plea in the boy's eyes.

“No, Oliver is right,” Nicole said. “Sometimes I see things when I get a migraine that bad. I was just dreaming.”

“You sure?” Bobby asked.

Nicole had come to despise her old crush. He had spent the past month trying to impress her while treating his own family like dirt, and Oliver bore the brunt of his frustration. It was getting more and more difficult for her to hide her disgust of him.

“I'm sure,” Nicole said coolly.

“Okay,” Bobby said. “I'm glad you're okay, Nick. Don't worry, Ol's not going to bother you again, are you?”

Oliver had a hand in the back pocket of his jeans, doubtlessly trying to rub out some of the sting from his punishment. He looked up at his father, then around at Jackson and Nicole. Something clicked into place behind his green eyes. His shoulders slumped and he sighed.

“No, sir,” he said. “I won't be bothering anyone anymore.”

“Good,” Bobby said.

Nicole did not like the finality of Oliver's statement. She would have questioned him, but did not want to risk setting his father off again. All she could do was thank Bobby for his concern and see the pair off. When they were gone, she turned on Jackson.

“How could you?”

Jackson's eyes widened.

“What did I do?”

“You let him hit that kid,” Nicole said. “In our own home, Jackson! Under our own roof! How could you do that?”

“It's not our business,” Jackson said stubbornly. “People have a right to raise their kids however they think is best.”

“He has autism, Jack!” Nicole yelled. “You let that man beat on an autistic child in my fucking house!”

“Whoa, Nicole, calm down.”

“I will not calm down!” Nicole shouted. “The hell is wrong with you? You don't care that a child was getting beaten across the hall? Is that why you want kids? So you can take your belt to them whenever you get fed up with your life?”

“Hey, that's not fair!” Jackson exclaimed. “That is not fair at all. Just because I didn't go telling a man how to discipline his kid doesn't mean I'd ever lay a hand on my own kids. _If_ we ever have any.”

The jab stung Nicole. She stormed past him, letting her shoulder hit him on the way into the kitchen. She was starving, and was soon banging the cabinets open and shut. Jackson hovered at the kitchen's threshold, arms crossed sullenly.

“Here we go again,” Nicole muttered. “What was it this time, Jack? Did you have another dream about kids? Is your small family house fetish getting the best of you again? What?”

“I didn't bring up having kids, you did.”

“So what was that? _If_ we have any?” Nicole slammed a drawer shut. “How about _if_ we don't?”

“What are you saying, Nicole?”

“I don't want kids!”

She shut another drawer, the cutlery inside rattling. There was a tense silence as she and Jackson glared at one another. She could see him trying to accept her confession, and her anger diminished. He was trying like hell. But she also saw the disappointment in his eyes.

“We said we'd talk about it once we're back home in Texas,” Jackson ventured. “You were the one that said you didn't want to decide anything while we're here. I like this place, but I can tell you hate it. So let's just wait until we're out of here, okay?”

“It's not the house,” Nicole sighed. “It's not. Oh, damn it.”

She slumped onto one of the kitchen chairs, holding her head in her hands. There was a residue of pain leftover from the migraine. Jackson took up the box of pasta and pot she had gathered. He filled the pot with water, dumped in the noodles, and set it to boil. Then he stationed himself behind Nicole, rubbing her shoulders.

“There is so much bad shit in the world,” Nicole said. “There's just so much. Do we really want to bring a kid into this world?”

“Darlin', the world is always going to have bad shit in it,” Jackson said. “But there are still kids born every day and believe it or not, most of them turn out okay. We have better odds than most. That's not bragging, it's a simple fact. Our kids won't ever be cold or hungry, and I swear to God, Nicole, I would never hit a child.”

“I know. I know, you're a good man, Jack,” Nicole admitted. “It's not about you. It's me. All I see is how many ways a child can be hurt, how many ways they'll inevitably suffer. It scares the crap out of me.”

“It's this place,” Jackson said. “I know you've been reading a lot about that accident in the 1800s. I keep finding history books around the house. You feel bad about those kids who died in that freak accident.”

_'It wasn't an accident.'_

“They were put down there to work, and they died there,” Nicole said dully. “They died, Jackson. They died alone in the cold—buried, smothered, crushed, who knows? My family owned the mine. My family owns that tragedy.”

“You don't, Nicole.”

Jackson sat in the chair beside hers. He held her hands in his own.

“It was two hundred years ago come February, darlin',” he said. “Two hundred years. The money has even run out by now, you said so yourself. There is nothing to feel guilty about. You were never responsible. Your father was never responsible, and neither was his father. It was a long, long time ago.”

“Their bodies are going to be torn out of the mine any day now,” Nicole said, hugging herself. “You're being careful, right? I don't want them torn up by the machines. I can't—I don't want them dug out like detritus, you know?”

“They won't be, I promise,” Jackson said. “Shit. No wonder you can't think about having kids while we're here. Sorry, I was an insensitive jackass.”

“You're not,” Nicole smiled. “I don't even know why the hell I was fighting with you. I'm really just mad at Bobby. I can't believe he's grown up to be such an asshole to his own kid. He hated his pop so much and now he's just like him. I know it's not our place to say anything, but I feel sorry for that kid.”

“He is kind of a pain in the ass.”

“He was trying to help me, Jack.”

“He's been hanging around the mine, telling people we're disturbing the dead,” Jackson said. “I'm not justifying his father's ways. I'm just saying, he's been a problem. His father's probably just scared for him, what with all the hazards up on the mountain.”

“Maybe. _I'm_ worried about him, even,” Nicole said. “We should put up heavier fencing around the whole site. Not just because of Oliver, either. Kids used to dare each other to go out to the mine at night. If they get that idea in their heads again now, someone could get hurt.”

“I agree. I'll talk to the guys about it.”

“Thanks.”

Nicole folded her arms on the small table and rested her head on them. Jackson stroked her hair and then got up to see about the boiling pasta. Nicole fell into a doze, and awoke to the smell of fresh spaghetti. Jackson put a plate in front of her and kissed her forehead. They ate dinner in peace and turned in early.

* * *

The rain was streaming down Oliver's bedroom window. He stood before it, gazing out at the sooty dark night. Loud voices filtered up from his parents' fight downstairs. He sat down on the window seat, wincing as the welts across his backside flared with pain. As he sat flinching, the taste of earth and coal dust filled his lungs. He coughed, then doubled over in a fit.

_'They hate you.'_

The voice was not his own, but it resonated inside his skull. He looked up, tears of fear and discomfort glinting in his eyes. In the darkest corner of the room, red eyes glinted from within the shadows. No matter how many lamps he turned on, that corner was always dark. No matter how thoroughly he cleaned his room, soot always seemed to gather in the niches. No, not only in the niches, it gathered in his lungs. His mother had suspected asthma but the doctors had never been able to find a problem. His father just slapped him on the back hard when he had a coughing fit. They could never understand the real reason. They could never _let themselves_ understand the real reason.

_'They don't care about you. You could die, and they wouldn't care.'_

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the voice. Back when he was seven, some older kids had dared him to spend the night at Devil's Vein. Oliver had been exceptionally rational at that age, and did not believe in anything supernatural. Desperate for friends, he had taken up the challenge. He bicycled out to Devil's Vein in the evening after sneaking out of the house, armed with a flashlight, snacks, water bottles, and a sleeping bag. It had been a clear summer night, and it had felt like an adventure. He was comfortable at the rubble-clogged mouth of the mine, watching the stars come out and the fireflies dance at the edge of the woods.

In the middle of that night, he had awoken to find he had wet himself. That had shocked him: he had not wet the bed since he was three years old. To this day, he could not remember the nightmare that had loosed his bladder, he only recalled snatches of the experience: suffocating, being crushed, all the world blacked out by earth and dust and rubble. When he had looked up, there were children surrounding him. Four children. The little girl that had appeared to Nicole earlier had been there, as well as a blond girl, a brunette girl, and a boy whose body was caved in at the chest. They were dead. Despite his rationality, despite his budding atheism, Oliver had instantly known that the children were not living.

For the very first time in his young life, Oliver had known true terror that night. It was not the practical fear of being punished by a parent, or the emotional ache that came from fear of being bullied by other children. The fear was something primal, so tangible it was almost a separate entity. It rooted itself into every nerve ending, freezing him in place. The only motion he could feel were those of his strained heart and lungs, panting and pumping blood frantically. It was as if his body was at war with a mind that only wanted to shut down to avoid the shock.

The children had whispered to him that night.

The children had never stopped whispering to him.

_'They hate you. They wish you were dead.'_

Oliver looked up wearily. The worst part was that he knew the voice was right. He had tried to fight against the ghosts' implications, but now that he was older, he no longer could. He did not mind the discipline so much. He could have appreciated it if it came from concern, but he knew it did not. He knew that all he had ever been to his parents was a burden.

_'They won't miss you. Come with us.'_

“I want Miss Nicole to be okay,” Oliver said. “She's nice. And … and don't hurt any kids. Please don't hurt any kids.”

_'They don't care about their kids.'_

“Please.”

_'They don't care about you.'_

“I know.”

_'Come with us.'_

Oliver shook his head, turning to stare out the window. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the shadows gather. Motes of black dust swirled as the blackness coalesced into a form. The fifth ghost, the one he could never bring himself to look at fully. She was the strongest—and the most furious. He felt her face beside his ear, lips moving not quite in sync with the words he heard in his brain.

_'Come die with us.'_

Oliver turned, and a cloud of black dust filled his lungs. He coughed violently. He rubbed his mouth and his hand came away black with soot. He cried out and buried his face in his hands. He sobbed vocally, as he had not done in years. He was alone and afraid, and he knew no one cared.

_'Come with us.'_

“Okay.” Oliver wiped his eyes. “I'll go. If I go, will it be enough for you? Will you stop?”

There was silence. Oliver looked around his room, but he was alone. He lifted his legs onto the window seat and hugged his knees to his chest. Outside, the rain streamed down on the world it could never quite wipe clean.


	4. Chapter 4

Nicole washed down her birth control pill with orange juice. She turned to the kitchen windows and looked out. December had blanketed the world in white, but the clouds blocked any sunlight that would have reflected off the white landscape. It was gray and dreary outside. The world looked washed out.

Nicole was uneasy. Devil's Vein was excavated enough for the real digging to begin, but none of the children's bodies had been found. Every day she waited to hear that they had unearthed the corpses, and every day Jackson denied the grisly discovery. She had become so preoccupied with the story of the children that she could no longer go to the mine. She stayed in her home, pacing and doing chores, or using her time in ways she could never remember. She felt that she was losing time, that her life was slipping away from her, but she could not think of how to regain control. Jackson's gaze was becoming more and more concerned.

Nicole jumped when the front door opened. She was in the living room, but she could not remember going there. She sat in her father's armchair, gazing out the windows at the mountains. She shook her head to clear it and went to greet Jackson. If she still looked out of it, he was too distracted to notice. He gave her a quick kiss, but could not meet her eyes.

“What's wrong?”

“Nicole, I—Shoot, I don't want to upset you.”

“Just tell me.”

Jackson wiped his shoes on the mat, cursing the snow. He removed his coat and gloves, then embraced her. Nicole's first thought was that they had finally found the remains of the children, and she was morbidly relieved. Then Jackson drew back.

“There was an accident.”

Nicole blinked. Her mind was sluggish lately. She could not process this unexpected information.

“What?”

“At the mine,” Jackson explained. “One of the machines just went haywire. Some of the rubble it was carrying fell on top of a man. He was killed instantly.”

“Killed?”

“Yeah.”

“A man was killed?”

Jackson nodded, scrubbing a hand over his face. He looked exhausted. Nicole was still tying to accept what he had told her. They moved to the kitchen on instinct, but neither moved to get food.

“Nicole, I hate to put anything else on you,” Jackson said. “I know this whole thing has been pretty rough on you.”

“I'm all right.”

“We both know that's not true,” Jackson said. “But the Mayor invited me to his house for dinner tonight. The town's not quite so happy about the mine being reopened anymore. They can't do anything, all the permits are signed, but it won't be good if the town loses faith. It would look good if we both showed at the Mayor's house tonight. Present a united front, you know?”

“Oh.”

“If you don't feel up to it, it's all right.”

“No. No, I think getting out would be good,” Nicole said. “I've just been … ”

She trailed off, not knowing what she had been doing. She smiled and rubbed Jackson's arm.

“I'll go shower and get dressed. Have a drink. You look worn out.”

“I think I will. Nicole?”

Nicole stopped before leaving the kitchen. Jackson smiled so beautifully that she thought her heart would break.

“I love you, Nicole.”

“I love you, too, Jack.”

Nicole went back to kiss him, then headed upstairs. Jackson had never looked so tired in his life. Her worry for him cut through her mental fog. She had to get it together. This damn place couldn't get to both of them. They were in love, they were happy, and she wasn't going to let Wassen Hole ruin that.

Nicole turned the thermostat higher and then headed upstairs to the master bathroom. She stripped off her recent uniform of sweatpants and a tee, then ran the water. The bathroom was still cold. What was taking the heat so long to reach it?

Nicole turned and frowned. There was only a weak drip coming from the showerhead. She fiddled with the faucets and the shower's dials. The pipes gave a choked gurgle. She was about to dress again and get Jackson when it spluttered to life. Black water burst out of the showerhead and drenched her. She gasped in shock at the coldness, then gagged on the sickening, oily taste. She backed away from the shower and spit into the sink. Her stomach heaved and she moved to the toilet to vomit.

Nicole stood up shakily and flushed the toilet. She felt dizzy and had to grip the edge of the sink to stay on her feet. The water was running clear now. She stepped into the hot downpour and her muscles relaxed. Just a small backup in the pipes. Nothing to worry about.

The bathroom had no ventilation, so a thick mist of steam quickly overtook it. Nicole stepped into it once she was done, enjoying the humid warmth on her skin. She grabbed an extra towel and wiped the mirror clear. A figure even whiter than the fog stood just behind her. Ebony eyes with no iris or sclera met her gaze in the glass. Black lips parted to speak. Nicole's breath caught in her chest. The warmth instantly evaporated, but the fog remained. Her burning lungs forced her to draw ragged, shaking breaths. She whipped around, the room whirling before her eyes, and stumbled.

Nicole cried out as her knee banged against the tiled floor. She curled around it, holding it to her chest, the little girl almost forgotten. Tears of pain shot from her eyes. Through the wetness and fog, she saw two bare white feet stop before her. She moaned from the strain of emotional and physical suffering, trying to crawl back. The hem of a gray floral dress and white pinafore came into view as the child knelt. Nicole finally dared lift her face to the apparition.

The little girl's face looked like a porcelain mask in its blanched perfection. Her beauty made the blank black eyes and unnaturally black lips stand out all the more. Two pale gray streaks of tears ran down from either eye. Her fingers looked like sticks of chalk as they reached out to Nicole's face. Nicole felt sympathy for the child, but it did nothing to mar her terror. She screwed her eyes shut, unaware of the keening sound coming from the back of her throat.

Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs.

A whisper of icy cold grazed Nicole's cheek. Then the door burst open and she looked up. Jackson ran over and knelt beside her, holding her gently by the shoulders. The fog in the room evaporated, and the little girl went with it.

“Nicole, are you okay?” Jackson asked. “What happened?”

“I just … ” Nicole gazed around the bathroom, searching for something to explain herself. “I fell. It was stupid. I forgot to put down one of the bath mats. I just fell and hit my knee.”

Jackson turned his attention to her leg. Nicole wanted to throw her arms around him and cry, but she was loathe to cause him any more worry. He helped her stand, and she was relieved to find she could put weight on her knee. She was bruised, but otherwise fine. She wrapped her towel around herself.

“We'll stay home tonight,” Jackson offered. “I'll tell the Mayor he can just—”

“No, no, don't be silly,” Nicole said through a forced smile. “I'm fine. I'll just wear a longer dress, that's all.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Okay. Okay, I'll leave you to it, then.”

Jackson kissed her, rubbed her back through the towel. At the door, he asked her again if she was sure, and she nodded fervently. He sighed and left, shutting the door.

Alone, Nicole inhaled deeply and let the breath out slowly. She turned to the mirror warily, but only her reflection gazed back. She moved closer to wipe away a smudge on the glass, then realized that it was on her own face instead. She touched one of the drying tracks of tears. Her hand came away lightly sooty. She turned on the sink faucet and washed her face and hands over and over again.

* * *

Jackson and Nicole managed to clean up nicely despite their inner turmoil. She had not been expecting to need the formal clothes she had packed until Christmas, and was glad she had packed several outfits. She was uncomfortable wearing black after seeing that little girl's black eyes, but the velvet black dress Jackson had bought her was the only one long enough to hide her bruised knee. She put it on, and was pleased at the way it clung to her curves, even if it did make her look too pale. Jackson took advantage of the low neckline and kissed her collarbone, the tops of her breasts. Nicole smelled whiskey on his breath. The drink had smoothed away his worries. He was wearing a pristine black suit. The outfit was given a Southern edge thanks to his black and gray tooled leather boots, black hat, and bolo tie. Nicole could never resist him when he was all dressed up. She had to redo her makeup and they almost didn't make it out of the house on time. In the car, they were still laughing, and she kept a hand on his thigh.

They sobered some during the long drive out of the town. The mayor's mansion was far from the mountains. The mansion sprawled out on a flat plain beneath an endless starry sky, several buildings with peaked roofs over flat triangular fronts dotted with circular windows. The mansion's silhouette was dark, and the windows glimmered like so many eyes. The property was fenced in by stone walls, but tonight the gates were wide open. Jackson drove on in and parked in the garage, also left open. Nicole was relieved to see that there were not many cars in the garage. This would not be a very large gathering, and she suspected they were the guests of honor.

“The Mayor comes from a very old local family,” Nicole told Jackson. “He's a proud man. People that come from dirty money usually are.”

“Dirty?” Jackson turned to her, eyebrows raised. “You never said anything about crime here in Wassen Hole.”

“Oh, no, it's not like that,” Nicole said. “No, it's really stupid old prejudice. It was a very long time ago, in the late 1800s. The Graves family was suspected of some nefarious activities, before they moved out here to help found this town.”

“Such as?”

“They were rumored to be resurrectionists,” Nicole said. At Jackson's confused expression, she explained, “Ressurectionists used to dig up bodies to sell them to the medical community, and most were also grave robbers, as well. The first member of the Graves family to come out here did so to escape charges back on the East Coast. The family has had a shady reputation ever since.”

“Jee-sus, ancient history is that important here?”

“Yes, it is,” Nicole said grimly. “I was pretty much shunned when I was a kid, just because my family owns Devil's Vein. Kids were always teasing me.”

The old chant echoed through Nicole's mind incessantly:

_'Devil's Vein, Devil's Vein_

_Once you go in_

_You can't get out again_

_Devil's Vein'_

“Well, they have to eat their words now,” Jackson said. “So how does someone from an infamous family become Mayor, anyway?”

They climbed out of the car, shrinking within their coats from the sudden cold. Their breaths escaped in white clouds. Nicole tried not to be reminded of the fog in the bathroom.

“I wondered the same thing,” Nicole said. “From what I've heard, he married into the McGraedy family. They're also old Wassen Hole blood, but far from infamous, even if they did own Devil's Vein once upon a time. They're the last family to retain their wealth from the old days. Their last living heir is Moira McGraedy, the Mayor's wife. She probably bought him the election as an early Christmas present.”

They chuckled and then put on their social poker faces as they left the garage. They walked in silence to the main building, arm in arm. Servants welcomed them in and took their coats. The servants wore severe old-fashioned black uniforms, the women all in ankle-length dresses with white aprons and the men each wearing a white pair of gloves. The staff was very old, and their eyes were hollow. Jackson had grown up in the world of the wealthy, and he had never seen such a uniformly cryptic bunch. He told himself it was nice to see the family keeping on loyal help instead of replacing them regularly, but he could not help being a little creeped out.

They were shown into the den. A fire raged within a fireplace large enough for an adult to step into, and a small group sat before it in leather seating. Harvey Graves and Moira (nee McGraedy) Graves stood to welcome them grandly. Harvey Graves was a huge man: well over six feet with a proud girth and a prouder smile. He patted Jackson hard on the back; Nicole was impressed her husband, not at all slight himself, did not fall over. Fortunately, Mayor Graves was gentler when he shook her hand. His palm was very soft, but his grip was strong. He was a handsome man, and a stubborn chin and strong jawline had escaped the pudginess of the rest of his face. His hair was full and only lightly silvered by gray.

Moira Graves was statuesque and voluptuous, her immaculate hair dyed platinum blond. Diamonds caught the light from the fire and flashed violently as she walked forward and extended her hand. Her red lips parted in a wide smile that reminded Nicole of a shark. Below white gold and diamond necklaces, the white mink lining Moira's dress failed to hide much more than her nipples. Her slinky sapphire blue dress had an asymmetrical slit that showed a generous portion of her thigh. Out of the corner of her eye, Nicole could see Jackson studiously keeping his eyes away from the woman's body. She appreciated the effort. Nicole's hand brushed diamonds and the smell of sharply floral perfume wafted into her nose as she shook Moira's hand.

“What a pleasure to have more old blood flowing back into town,” Moira purred. “Welcome home, dear.”

“Thank you very much, Mrs. Graves.”

“And new blood, as well,” Moira said as she stalked up to Jackson. “My, my, what a handsome addition to Wassen Hole.”

Nicole bristled at the naked hunger in Moira's tone. Jackson tried to briefly shake her hand, but she held onto his, her diamond ring-encircled fingers brushing his knuckles. Nicole noticed that Harvey Graves looked annoyed, though not surprised. Moira was eating Jackson up greedily with her eyes. Finally, Harvey cleared his throat and put a hand on Moira's back. Jackson took the opportunity to free his hand and place it firmly in Nicole's. Moira did not seem to care one bit, she simply ran her tongue along her full bottom lip.

Mayor Harvey Graves introduced the others gathered in the den. They were the owners of the businesses that were involved in the restoration of the Devil's Vein mine. Jackson had been gracious enough to employ local construction companies and the like as much as possible. Despite the fatal accident, all the men were exceptionally kind to Jackson and Nicole. Nicole was a little perturbed that the death of their fellow man was not even mentioned, and she could tell that Jackson felt the same way. Without even a hint of somberness, Harvey led everyone to the dining room for dinner.

Nicole hadn't realized how little she had been eating since returning home. The three-course spread of enviable variety overwhelmed her. She ate small portions of each course, and still could only nibble at dessert. Harvey and Moira ate rapturously, putting all but the heartiest men to shame.

Inevitably, the group divided itself by gender by some unspoken understanding after the meal. Everyone gathered in the den, but the wives sat by the fire together while the men gathered at the seats by the row of large windows. They cracked a couple open a few inches as cigars were passed around. Nicole felt sorry for Jackson, who would never turn down a cigar in public despite the fact that he would be coughing for days afterward. She could just hear him cursing the tar-sucking habit now, and smiled sympathetically.

“Brandy?”

Nicole was not a heavy drinker, but she hoped the alcohol would ease the bloated feeling in her stomach. She thanked Moira Graves and sipped her drink. Moira had gone through a bottle of wine over dinner, and she was already halfway through her tumbler of brandy. The hungry greed in her eyes never seemed to be satiated. She was not the only bored lady thirsty for talk of a new stud in town. Before long, the women's talk had turned to Jackson. Nicole began taking deeper sips of her drink.

“Where did you find him?” one of the wives asked. She was beyond tipsy.

“Oh, you couldn't tell from that accent, Janine?” Moira spoke before Nicole could. “Really. The man couldn't be from anywhere but Texas. Am I right, Nicole? Do you mind if I call you 'Nicole'?”

“Not at all, Mrs. Graves.” _Although you still haven't invited me to call you 'Moira'._ “And yes, you're right. He's a Texas man.”

“Are things really bigger in Texas?” the drunk young wife asked.

“Don't be vulgar,” Moira scolded. “You're making poor Nicole blush. How did you meet your Jackson?”

“Well, my first job was at his company, Entry Energy,” Nicole explained. “Eventually, I was transferred to work at their main headquarters in Dallas. I had helped with the redesign of one of the drills, and Entry Energy was getting ready to patent the new design. So I was overseeing the drill's test run, and Jackson was, too. We met, and—well, here we are.”

“You design drills?” an older woman said, her eyes narrowed. “Rather manly work.”

“I'm a mechanical engineer,” Nicole said, completely ignoring the jibe. She had heard worse. “The company did end up patenting that drill, and we ended up getting married. I found a lot in Texas. It's the only other place that's ever felt like home.”

“I've never been outside of the Hole,” the drunk wife said. “Prolly never will be.”

“That's enough,” Moira said, taking the drink out of her hands. “You know what your husband will do if you go home drunk.”

The young woman stared at her hands. She shifted, and Nicole was reminded of Oliver's chastened expression. She sighed discreetly into her glass as she drank again. As a girl, she had simply accepted the way everything was, except for her refusal to give up her unfeminine passion for engineering. As a young adult, she had doubted her memories, told herself that Wassen Hole was no worse than any small town. Now, she was convinced all over again that time stood still in this place.

 _Moira looks like she stepped out of an old Hollywood glamour shoot,_ she realized. _These women all look like extras on an old movie set: the stern matron who called my job 'manly', as if a_ job _could be masculine or feminine, and the young wife trying to escape her dreary life with alcohol. The other two are proud just to be married. And—wait a minute. They have no phones. I haven't seen anyone on a phone since we got here. They must_ have _them, but they all must have turned them off? Is there some taboo about using your cellphone with company? Even in this day and age? What the hell?_

Nicole resisted the urge to take out her own cellphone just to see what would happen. She entertained their conversation as best as she could. Moira did most of the talking for all of them. Nicole accepted a second brandy.

* * *

“Something on your mind, Jackson?”

Jackson turned his face from the fresh air of the window. He had been trying to get a whiff of clean air to avoid gagging on the thick fog of cigar smoke, but he would never admit that. He turned back to the group of men and braced himself with a swallow of whiskey.

“I'm going to be honest with you, Mayor Graves—”

“Harvey, please.”

“All right, Harvey,” Jackson drawled. “Frankly, I expected tonight had to do with today's unfortunate loss. I don't want anyone to think that I'm going to sweep it under the rug. If there are concerns or questions anyone has about it, about the reopening of the mine, I'm ready to hear them.”

The men all shared a look that Jackson failed to decipher. Was that amusement in Harvey's eyes? He had steeled himself for disgruntlement, even accusations of negligence. The lack of, well, _anything_ significant in the men's eyes baffled him.

“That's very responsible of you, Jackson,” Harvey said. “Very kind.”

“And of course, Entry Energy will be covering all medical and funerary expenses,” Jackson went on. “We all know that accidents happen. I just want to be certain this doesn't cause the town any more pain or confusion than it already has.”

The men nodded, but were baffled. Jackson felt like he was speaking in a language foreign to them.

“Accidents do happen,” the owner of the town's only construction company said. He patted Jackson's shoulder paternally. “I'm sorry if today caused you and your wife some upset. But don't worry about us or the town. What you're doing at Devil's Vein is going to be a great boon for us, and if there is a price to be paid, we're more than willing to pay it.”

Jackson took a drag on his cigar just to hide his expression. He had dealt with hard men before, but there was something cold about this pragmatism. He took a drink, told himself he was being ridiculous. The town was struggling, and plenty of towns paid far higher prices to crawl their way out of destitution. Jackson couldn't blame or judge them. He just felt a little slimy about being the devil they'd made a deal with.

“Thank you for being so understanding,” Jackson said. “I just want you all to know that I'm sorry about it. If the family would like me to come to the funeral or give my condolences personally—”

“No, that won't be necessary,” Harvey said. “Not necessary at all, Jackson. You're a good man, and I'm sure the family knows that. We all do, don't we?”

Murmurs of agreement. Jackson felt even slimier. There was no warmth in their eyes, no sympathy, only the eagerness to keep him content while they profited off his presence. Jackson drank more whiskey. He glanced out the window to get another whiff of cold night air. Something moved outside. Were there deer out here?

“It was our machinery, I'm sorry to say,” the construction man said. “Damn freak accident, but if anyone is liable, it's us. Don't you worry about it, Jackson. We own it and we'll take care of it. Wassen Hole does that. Takes care of its own.”

“Oh. All right.”

There was motion outside the window again. This time, both Jackson and Harvey turned. Jackson was about to ask him about the local wildlife, but the look on Harvey's face stilled his tongue. The man's heavy face was pale, and his eyes were wide. He hastened to muffle his expression behind his glass, then struggled to his feet.

“Er, excuse men, gentlemen, nature calls.”

They grunted in acceptance and Harvey exited. Another round of cigars were passed out. Before he needed to light another foul stick up, Jackson used Harvey's same excuse to get away. As he left, he had the feeling the other men were sinking into a discussion about him. He didn't care. He was here for business, not to make friends.

Jackson expected to find servants lingering around, but there were none. He took the opportunity to find a way outside to clear his lungs. Oddly, the front doors were locked, so he wandered deeper into the house. He was surprised to find the massive kitchen empty, and marveled at how quickly the staff had cleaned up. He spotted a small back door and gratefully headed for it. It was not locked, and he stepped out into the blissfully clean December night.

Jackson drew several breaths, but his lungs tightened regardless. He doubled over in a coughing fit. There was a bitter, foul taste in his mouth that was dirtier than the cigar had tasted. He spit onto the ground, trying to keep his cough under control. He would be damned if anyone found him out here choking his lungs up from one cigar.

Jackson's head was spinning when he stood up straight again. There was a blur of motion, and he turned towards it. At first he saw nothing, then he lowered his gaze.

“What in the hell … ”

Two children stood hand in hand by the corner of the main building. One was a little girl in a mustard-colored dress and a scarf around her neck. Her hair was a vibrant golden blond, curled up at the ends. The boy had shocks of brown hair sticking out from beneath a cap. He could not see their faces, they seemed obscured or dirty.

Were they the Mayor's children? Jackson didn't recall Nicole telling him the Graves family had kids, but she might not know, either. Why were they out here without coats? In fact, the boy didn't even have shoes on.

“Hey, it's cold out here,” Jackson told them. “Why don't we go on inside? Maybe someone will wrangle up some hot chocolate for you.”

The children stayed perfectly still. Jackson's vision blurred and he rubbed his eyes. He was still dizzy and cursed the cigars. He should just suck up his pride and start refusing the nasty things.

“Come on now, you shouldn't be out here. I don't think your parent's would—”

Jackson coughed violently again. He spit. It hit the ground black. When he looked up, the kids were gone. Had they gone around the house? He frowned and stumbled after them. He stopped at the corner of the house, ducking back into its shadow. Harvey Graves was out in the front, talking to someone.

Jackson squinted at the other figure, but his head buzzed with pain as he did. He could only make out a man slightly shorter than Harvey, and much thinner. He wore no coat, either, only a black suit. His hair was dark and there was something uneven about his eyes: one was larger than the other, and neither blinked. Jackson would have taken him for a servant, but he looked too young.

“—you mean, 'too strong'?” Harvey was asking. He was trying to whisper, but his naturally loud voice made it impossible. “The hell are we sustaining you for if you can't even keep a little situation like this under control?”

“Sustaining? That's rich.”

The other voice was gravelly and strained. It was American but accented by an old-fashioned cadence.

“We could get rid of you, don't you think we can't.”

“You would turn on your own blood?”

“There's no blood in your veins anymore.”

“As slippery as I was,” chuckled the thin man. “But your anger is misplaced, Harvey. I've nothing to do with this particular scheme.”

“You're not doing anything about it, either.”

“I _can't_ , I am _unable_ to,” the man said regretfully. “That mine is cursed. Close it back up, Harvey.”

“I can't do that,” Harvey fumed. “I cannot do that.”

“My hands are tied.”

“Speak to _Him_ , then,” Harvey said desperately. “I'm sure we can strike up some kind of deal. There has to be a—”

Harvey dropped his voice to a whisper that Jackson could not make out.

“—that we can make, right?” Harvey asked, pulling back. “Talk to _Him_. See what _He_ says.”

“If you weren't family, Harvey, I—”

A shrill cry broke through the night. Jackson's head throbbed painfully. His vision doubled and his lungs burned. The man backed away from Harvey.

“I had better go,” he said, voice even raspier from fear. “She—She's been restless. They all have. Close the mine, Harvey. I'll see what I can do, but you should close the mine. Those souls are free now, and it's not going to do anyone any good.”

Jackson's lungs tickled and he hurried back to the kitchen door. He went inside and only then allowed himself to cough. He could finally breathe again. He returned to the den before Harvey returned, head spinning.

* * *

By the time Jackson got back, the men and women were all sitting together in pairs by the fire. Harvey returned soon after him. They took their places with Nicole and Moira respectively. Jackson had not been gone long enough to draw attention. Drinks and laughter continued to flow, and he forced himself to join in. He could see worry in Harvey's eyes, but the man masked it expertly.

As the night was winding down, the other couples left. Nicole was trying to think of an excuse to escape Moira and Harvey when they all jumped. There was a loud knocking on the front doors. Harvey cursed under his breath and shuffled out of the den. Moira tried to stop them, but Jackson was on Harvey's heels and Nicole went after him.

“No, don't open that door!”

The elderly servant turned, mildly surprised. They went to shut the doors, but they banged open. Everyone froze and stared at the entrance. The foyer was quiet for a moment, save for the ticking of a huge grandfather clock. Then there was a scuffling of feet and Krystal Harris, wife of Bobby and mother of Oliver, swept in. She wore sweatpants, Uggs boots, a sweatshirt, and a big, shapeless blue parka. Her blond hair was shaggy and her blue eyes were ringed with dark circles. She shrank beneath Harvey and Moira's furious glares. She looked about to leave but then her eyes lit on Nicole. She rushed up to her.

Nicole had spoken to Krystal a few times since returning to Wassen Hole. The woman was often worn out, but she was usually cheerful. She loved her children, even Oliver, and let their achievements fill up all her conversations with Nicole. Now, she clung to Nicole's arm. Nicole flinched under her cold fingers.

“Nick, hey, have you seen Oliver?”

“What? What do you mean?” Nicole asked, flustered. “I haven't seen him since—”

_Since your husband took the belt to him under my own roof._

“Ms. Harris, we've spoken about this already,” Harvey huffed. “The sheriff's department is handling it. You know that.”

“And you know where he is!” Krystal yelled. “He's in that mine! He's in that goddamn mine!”

Nicole's heart thudded heavily in her chest. Krystal began to cry and all she could think to do was lead her to the den's fire. Harvey and Moira wore anxious expressions, but they did not stop her. Once Krystal was seated before the blaze, Moira got her a tumbler of brandy. Krystal lifted it as if to throw it into the flames, but Nicole stayed her hand. Krystal drank glumly. She looked both like her mother when she had been worried, and like her childhood self in a sulk.

“I'm sorry, Nicole, it's not your fault,” Krystal said. She sniffled. “But that mine never should have been reopened. It's cursed. It's cursed and now it's taken my—my baby—Oliver.”

“That's ridiculous,” Harvey snapped. “That boy of yours has gone wandering off before, hasn't he? He always turns up.”

“He's never been gone for more than a day or two,” Krystal insisted. “It's been _two weeks_ , Mayor Graves. And his room, all those awful things in his room … ”

“He's autistic,” Moira said, her tone making the word sound like a slur. “He fixates on things, doesn't he? That's what they do. Why wouldn't he be fixated on the mine, now that it's reopening? It doesn't mean he went out there.”

“He's retarded, not crazy,” muttered Harvey.

“He's not retarded!” Krystal protested shrilly. It was clear from her frustration that she had explained this many times before. “And he isn't crazy, but he's been obsessed with that damned mine for years. He—he _sees things_. He told me before he left, he said that there were ghosts in the mine. He said they wanted him to go with them. I showed the sheriff the note! He said he'd gone to them! He was trying to stop them! Oh God!”

“There was no note, Krystal.”

“There was,” Krystal moaned. “I held it in my minds. You had the sheriff destroy it. I know you did! All you care about is the coal left in that damned mine! My son could be dead in there, and you couldn't care less!”

“Don't be stupid,” Moira said. “If your son was dumb enough to get himself killed at the mine, we would have dragged his body out by now, wouldn't we have?”

Krystal wailed.

“Mrs. Graves, please,” Nicole said. She rubbed Krystal's back. “Krystal, no one told us that Oliver was missing. I had no idea. You should have come to me sooner.”

“I tried, but the sheriff wouldn't let me go,” Krystal said. “Bobby wouldn't hear of it. All anyone cares about is that mine!”

Jackson turned to Harvey. They moved some distance away. Nicole could hear Jackson demanding to know why he hadn't been made aware of Oliver's disappearance.

“Your son is not at the mine,” Moira said. “There has been absolutely no evidence that he's gone near there. Nicole, wouldn't all the men working at the site, especially your husband, have noticed if a kid had been around for the past two weeks?”

 _Not if he's been dead,_ Nicole thought. She inhaled deeply, trying to still her racing heart. She thought of the boy, his sandy hair and freckles, those strange green eyes. Despite how deeply he had unsettled her, she cared about him more than she had realized. He reminded her of Bobby, when he had been her best friend. She could never quite let go of the strange thought that Oliver might have been her own, if Bobby had chosen her rather than Krystal. The thought of him being dead made her want to crumble the way Krystal had. She only remained strong for the woman's sake, knowing her feelings could not compare to those of Oliver's real mother.

“We'll have the mine checked out thoroughly, Krystal,” Nicole said. “There have been men in and out. Moira is right that it's unlikely he got in unnoticed, so please don't think the worst. But I swear to you, we'll do everything we can to find him. All right?”

“Thank you,” Krystal said in relief. “Thanks, Nick. I knew you'd understand. You're the only person that's ever listened to me babble about the kid without your eyes glazing over.”

“He's a good kid, Kris,” Nicole said. “I don't want anything to happen to him. Jackson and I will do everything in our power to help find him, okay?”

“You need to shut down the mine, Nick,” Krystal said. “Please. It's cursed. I know we gave you shit about it as kids and I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. We didn't understand what the hell we were even teasing you about. But it's not a joke or a game, Nick. It's real.”

“Enough with the superstitious nonsense,” Moira said. “This town just got moving again, it's not going to grind to a stop because your kid happened to run away _again_ while the mine's reopening.”

“We will do everything that we can,” Nicole repeated. “I'm sure the mining can be suspended for a day or two, so we're sure Oliver isn't inside the mine. Okay?”

“It won't be enough,” Krystal said. “You don't believe me. I … I never believed Oliver, either. I didn't believe my boy. God.”

“We'll find him, Kris,” Nicole said. “We'll find him.”

Harvey and Jackson returned.

“I think it's time that you left, Mrs. Harris,” Harvey said. “I'm sorry about your son, but like I said, he's run away before. Maybe he just went farther this time. Jackson here has promised to have the mine searched. That's about all we can do. Do you want me to call your husband?”

“Why bother?” Krystal said bitterly. “He doesn't care. He probably hopes that—”

Krystal stood, clutched her parka shut. She smiled weakly at Nicole.

“Please think about closing the mine a little, Nick,” she said. “I know it sounds like childhood shit, but it's not. I should have listened to Oliver sooner. Please don't make the same mistake.”

“Okay, Kris. I will.”

“Thank you for searching the mine,” Krystal said. “Please just-just keep an eye out. Thank you.”

Krystal rushed out of the room. Moira followed, most likely to be certain she left. The den was dead silent. The fire crackled and Nicole jumped.

Moira swept in, shutting the doors behind her. She met her husband's eyes, then crossed the room. She poured drinks for their last two guests.

“Don't listen to that nonsense, Nicole, Jackson,” she said briskly. “Honestly, it's no wonder you left Wassen Hole so young, Nicole. I'm sure you remember that it's been this way for years. Every time anything goes wrong, every ignorant fool in town blames Devil's Vein. It's just superstition, Nicole, don't you mind it. People have to have _something_ to point to when things go wrong for no reason.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess.”

“It's late,” Jackson said bluntly. “I think it's time that I took my wife home.”

“Of course, of course,” Harvey said. “Please, don't mind Mrs. Harris too much. The stress of raising a kid like that has made her a little sensitive.”

“Well, now that we're aware, we'll search the mine,” Jackson said. “I'll talk to the other guys tomorrow.”

“Of course,” Harvey said glumly. “Of course. Please don't let this hold up your schedule too much, though. I'm sure the boy's nowhere near the mine.”

“I'm not taking any more chances,” Jackson said firmly. “Now, I don't believe in curses, or any of that hogwash, but we both know there are plenty of realistic concerns about the mine. I want it searched straight through, and I'm going to have better fencing put up. Do you think the sheriff's department can spare a few men to walk the perimeter every hour? We should have paid more attention to security before. I thought the mine was too far from town for kids to bother going out there, but I shouldn't have taken such a risk. Stupid. It was stupid.”

“Jackson, nothing's happened to the boy,” Harvey said. “I'm sure of it. Don't beat yourself up like this over nothing.”

“It's not nothing. A child's missing. A man is dead,” Jackson said. “I know the price of business, Mr. Graves, and this ain't it. Let's just take a step back for a couple of days, okay? That won't hurt anybody.”

“All right.”

“Okay. Come on, Nicole.”

In the foyer, the spindly old servants rushed to help them into their coats. Nicole's mind was racing and her heart throbbed. Jackson remembered his manners at the last.

“Thank you for dinner, Mr. Graves, Mrs. Graves,” he said. “It was amazing.”

“Thank you, Jackson.”

Moira stepped forward and hugged Nicole, air-kissing each cheek. Nicole could only blink. Moira touched Jackson's hand. Harvey almost elbowed her aside to shake Jackson's hand.

“We'll have to do this again sometime,” Harvey said. “Goodnight, Mr. and Mrs. Wallace.”

“Goodnight.”

Nicole stared at the ground as Jackson led her to the car. When she looked up at him, she saw that he was equally distracted. He kept looking around the property as if he expected to see someone following them.

They took a moment to breathe in the car before starting it. Nicole's own turmoil subsided as she began to wonder what had upset Jackson. He always regretted workplace accidents, but he knew they were part of the business. Did he really think Oliver had gone into the mine?

“Jackson?”

Jackson turned from the window. He had still been scanning the property. Nicole frowned questioningly. He smiled, but it faltered quickly. He coughed, started the car, and turned the heat up.

“Did you see something at the mine?” Nicole asked. “Jack, you wouldn't just ignore something like that, would you?”

“What? _What?_ ” Jackson came back to reality. “Oh, Jesus, Nicole, no. No, it's not that. We haven't seen anything out of the ordinary out there. That kid, Oliver, he's pretty small for his age, isn't he?”

“Yeah.”

“We probably would have noticed if we saw his, or any kid's, footprints out there,” Jackson said. “There's been fresh snow every few days. And kids take backpacks full of stuff with them, right? We haven't found anything in the mine, Nicole, not a sandwich wrapper, not a notebook paper, nothing. I really don't think he went in there. We'll search the mine and put up the fencing, of course, but I swear to you, I _**swear**_ , we haven't seen anything that would suggest the kid's been up there.”

“Then why are you so upset?”

Jackson was quiet for a long moment. He sighed, but said nothing. When they pulled out of the garage, she thought that he was going to shut the conversation out. When things got too deep for him to process, he would go silent. At first, she was infuriated by this habit. After learning to wait him out, she discovered that he merely needed his own time to come to terms with difficult issues. He had never permanently run away from a hard conversation yet. This time, the wait was no longer than five minutes.

“Something weird happened,” he told Nicole. “You know when I went to the bathroom? I actually just needed some air. You know how much I hate smoking.”

“I could have sworn I saw you turning blue over there.”

“Yeah,” Jackson chuckled. “Yeah. So, I went out the kitchen door. It was real bad. I'm going to have to stop this macho crap and just say 'no' pretty soon. Lung cancer won't be worth it. I swear, my spit was black.”

“What?”

“Nah, couldn't have been,” Jackson said. “It looked that way, though. Scared the shit outta me. Anyway, so I was out there coughing up a damn lung, right? Then I saw kids.”

Nicole bit her bottom lip.

“Kids?”

“Yeah. Two kids,” Jackson said. “Maybe it was a trick of the light. I don't know. Do the Graves have kids?”

“Yeah, but they're in boarding schools in Europe,” Nicole said. She had looked up the family on social media during the drive out. “The youngest is already an older teenager.”

“These kids were much younger 'n that,” Jackson said. “Looked like elementary school age. A boy and a girl. They had no coats. They were dressed weird, almost like they were in old costumes or something. The boy had no shoes.”

Nicole shut her eyes. She thought of the little girl with the pinafore. She remembered her bare chalk-white feet on the bathroom floor.

“I looked away for one moment and they were gone,” Jackson went on. “Just gone. I went around the corner of the main building to find them. Then I saw Harvey Graves out there talking to some strange man.”

“A man? What about the kids?”

“I never did find them again,” Jackson said. “I don't even know if I really saw them. It was too bizarre, you know? Anyway, the mayor was talking to this guy. He looked weird, but I couldn't see him very well. It was dark. I don't know.”

Jackson paused.

“This weird man was talking about the mine being cursed.”

“Oh, Jack, no.”

“Yeah. I'm sorry, but he was,” Jackson said. “He was telling Harvey to close the mine back up because the souls are restless and it's cursed, bull crap like that. That's why I've been a little weird since your friend Krystal said the same thing. I know it's just superstition, but still.”

“Jackson.”

“Yeah?”

“Jack, I—”

“What is it, darlin'?”

“I've been seeing things, too,” Nicole admitted. “There's a little girl. She's always dressed the same. Her eyes, they have no whites, no pupil, no iris, they're just pitch black. Coal black. I think she's one of the children from Devil's—”

“JESUS!”

Nicole's eyes jumped to the windshield. Four blurry pale figures were spread out across the road. The sound of screeching tires filled her ears. For just a moment, she glimpsed a fifth figure in the center, a patch of darkness darker than the night, red eyes burning like flames in the depths of an endless cavern.

The crunching of metal on metal shrieked. Nicole's head whipped painfully aside. Her face was crushed by air-bloated plastic. The back of the seat hit her neck. Glass shattered all around. Pain overtook her, making her entire body jump and twitch. Then—nothing.


	5. Chapter 5

Nicole found herself wandering through the mountainside forest. She was scarcely aware of herself, and she moved without willing herself to. The autumn foliage was lush and the air smelled of spicy-sweet organic decay. A warm feeling of serenity washed over her as she blew through the vibrant forest like a leaf on the wind.

Nicole left the forest and neared the mountains. Before long, the mouth of Devil's Vein loomed up before her. Shadowy figures appeared around the mine, solidifying into reality like a time lapse portrait. Mining equipment and carts full of coal littered the outside of the mine. The sound of digging and talking filled the formerly still air. Men, women, and children coalesced into being and bustled to and from the mine. The people were dressed in plain, dirty clothing. They looked very tired, but they seemed content, even happy.

Nicole drifted along until she came to a group of five children sitting on a blanket with a basket of food some ways from the mine's entrance. A little girl with yellow-blond hair sat beside a roguishly cute brunette boy, their knees touching. They bickered playfully and stole each other's food. A robust young girl with copper-brown hair scolded them when they got too rowdy, though she did it with an affectionate smile. The girl and boy obeyed her without question or disgruntlement. Beside the hearty girl was a much thinner girl with black hair gathered in a bun atop her head. The girl's head was bowed over her food, and she coughed into a handkerchief between bites. She looked frail and sickly, and sat timidly close to the brunette girl. Nicole recognized the black-haired little girl, but her eyes had white ringing the dark irises, her lips were a healthy pink instead of black, and she was not so pale. She sat with her little hands clasped neatly on her lap, until she took up a piece of cheese to nibble on. She could have been Nicole's sister, the resemblance was so strong. She sat apart from the two pairs of children, but did not seem to mind.

“I'm gon be rich, you'll see!” the only boy in the group announced to his blond friend. “There's bound to be gold in that there mine. My pa says so.”

“Your pa has been saying he'll be rich for years, just like his pa used to,” the blond girl said. “ _My_ father says so.”

“ _Your_ father don't want anyone to be richer than hisself, Canary,” the boy shot back. “Or should I call you ' _Miss McGraedy_ '?”

“Yes you should, Tommy,” Canary said primly.

“Then _you_ should call _me_ 'Mr. Graves',” Tommy retorted.

“I would never!”

“Then I would never either!”

“That's enough,” the brown-haired girl said. “Don't throw food at each other, waste is sinful.”

“Sorry, Ash,” Tommy said. “Or should I say, 'Sorry, _Miss Lee_ '?”

“No one here is a 'miss' or a 'mister' yet,” Ash Lee said. “Stop fooling, Tommy.”

“I shall like to be a 'miss' someday,” the black-haired girl said softly. “'Miss Coalette Caulfield'. Do you think we will be misses very long, Canary? I think I should most like to be a 'Mrs'.”

“Who would marry Canary?” Tommy teased. “Hey, it rhymes! Marry Canary! Maybe Mary will marry merry long before Canary!”

“Oh, poo to old Mary,” Canary huffed. “And no one will marry _you_ , either, if they have any sense.”

“Even you will want to marry me when I'm rich,” Tommy boasted. “I'm gon find gold in that old mine, I say! Gold!”

“Keep yellin' that so loud and you're going to cause a rush,” Ash Lee said. “Just hush up about gold. Coal is more than fine. This whole town was built on coal.”

“Coal is the only reason your pa has any money at all, Tommy,” Canary scoffed.

“Coal's fine, I s'pose, but gold's a whole lot better!” Tommy insisted. “And I'm gon find it and show you!”

Canary tutted at him and he threw a berry at her. They bantered and soon all the kids were laughing. The scene faded before Nicole's eyes until the mountainside was empty again. The autumn season burst forth with an explosion of color, then the colors faded and the trees were shed of their leaves. Day and night went by in endless cycles. Nicole watched time pass unnaturally fast, and grew dizzy with the changes.

In the winter, time slowed again. People faded into view again. There was more equipment than ever outside Devil's Vein, and it seemed the entire town's worth of people were at the mine. Despite the cold weather, the workers were energized to the point of mania. Now, even the women and children were working inside the mine. There was not much talk between the people, except for shouts and orders. The air felt tense, and several times arguments threatened to boil over into fights. Nicole saw little Tommy shove another boy to run into the mine before him. She knew the cause of the competitive mood when a women ran by with her apron clutched around something, and a small nugget of gold spilled out from it. Several children pulled hair and shoved as they tried to fight for the piece. Several men noticed what had happened and watched the woman go, furtively whispering to each other.

Time began to cycle forward more quickly again. During the night, Nicole watched men sneaking into the mine. The day brought forth another turbulent surge of activity. More days and nights of furious mining passed. One day, Nicole saw a group of well-to-do gentlemen muttering angrily to each other as they tried to quell the activity, to no avail. The mine was closed off for several calm days, and then the illicit nightly activity commenced more brashly than ever.

Time stopped so jarringly that Nicole felt as if she had hit a wall. She fought against the sensation, but she had no control over herself. She was uncertain whether she even had much 'self' left in this strange vision or dream; she could neither see nor feel a physical body, despite retaining all her senses.

The evening was cold, and the sunset spilled red light over the snow like blood. As Nicole's mind recovered from the jolt, she noticed a group of figures crunching through the snow towards the mine. She drifted closer and they came into focus in the light of the lanterns some of them carried. There were several adults and five children.

“But pa, it's so late, and I'm tired,” Tommy complained, rubbing his eyes. “I thought you said only robbers went minin' this late?”

“That's why we're beating them to it, Tommy,” Mr. Graves told his son. “Those thieves won't be taking our gold anymore, no sir.”

“Why didn't ma come with us?”

Mr. Graves stared at the mine for a long moment. He put a hand on Tommy's shoulder, but refused to look down at him. Tommy stared up at him with a questioning frown.

“Your mother isn't well today,” Mr. Graves said. “She needs her rest.”

Tommy accepted this with a shrug and looked out at the mine. He grinned.

“We're gonna have all the gold to ourselves, aren't we?” he asked his father. “Oh boy!”

Mr. Graves' mouth tightened, and he said nothing.

“Stop whooping so loud,” Canary told Tommy. “Do you want to wake up the entire town?”

“They're way down there, they can't hear me!”

“Please, be quiet,” Coalette urged nervously. “I-I don't want anything to hear us. It's awfully frightening here at night. Mama, please, can we go home?”

Coalette's parents were very tall, severe-looking gentlefolk, and resembled Nicole as much as their daughter did. She had a start when she saw Mr. Caulfield, who could have been her father if not for his thick mustache and beard. They shared a look, and then Mrs. Caulfield knelt down in front of her daughter.

“There is work to be done, Coalette, and it would be wrong to neglect your duty,” Mrs. Caulfield said. “You understand that, don't you?”

“Yes, mother.”

“It will be fine,” Ash Lee spoke up, stepping forward. “In the mine, it's never day or night, is it? We haven't worked for the last seven days, and we are all well-rested. There is nothing to worry about, is there, father?”

Mr. Lee was a large man with bushy brown facial hair obscuring most of his face.

“Right you are, Ash!” he boomed. “Right you are. That's my girl.”

Ash Lee beamed. The girl who had never spoken nor been named by the others walked up and took Ash Lee's hand in her own. Nicole realized that they were sisters. Ash Lee clutched her weaker sister's hand tightly and nodded reassuringly at her.

A strangled cry turned everyone's attention to a tall blond woman wearing a fur coat. Her husband, the most finely-dressed of the group, took her aside by the shoulders roughly. They conversed heatedly out of earshot of the others. When they returned, the woman was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

“Mother, do not cry,” Canary said, dismayed. “What ever is the matter?”

“I—I'm only a bit irritated by the coal dust in the air and the cold, my darling,” Mrs. McGraedy said. “I'm sorry I startled you.”

“Do not worry, mother,” Canary said. “I know that you do not like me working in the mine so often, but if my friends can do it, so can I. I will be just fine.”

“We will all be just fine,” Ash Lee confirmed.

“Yes, I know,” Mrs. McGraedy said. “Of course. Just fine.”

Mrs. McGraedy knelt before her daughter and smoothed her lovely golden hair. She removed a silk scarf from around her own neck and wrapped it around Canary's. A shaky smile quivered on her shapely lips.

“Here, wear this, my darling,” Mrs. McGraedy said. “I know that you've admired it so much.”

“But mother, won't it get dirty?”

“It can be washed,” Mrs. McGraedy said. “Wear it, my darling. Keep warm.”

“Thank you, mother. Oh, it's lovely! So very soft!”

Mrs. McGraedy's smile almost broke and she stood up quickly. A hand covered her mouth. Her husband gave her a frowning glance and she bowed her head to hide her expression.

“Now, little ones, here, have a nice drink before you go to work,” Mr. McGraedy said, producing a flask. “This shall give you the strength to do what you must.”

The children excitedly took turns drinking from the flask. Coalette coughed. The others smacked their lips and burbled about being allowed to drink wine. Tommy finished the last of it off with all the gusto of a grown man.

Once the concoction seeped into their blood, the children grew quiet. Then they became very still. Their eyes lit with a strange light, though they were expressionless. Nicole could feel the energy crackling within them, too potent to be natural. Coalette stopped shivering. Canary's hands dropped from the scarf. Tommy dropped the flask into the snow.

“Let's go,” Ash Lee said, her voice hollow. “Come!”

The children marched to Devil's Vein, and were swallowed by the dark mouth of its main tunnel. Mrs. McGraedy gave an audible cry and tried to run after them. Her husband held her back as she sobbed. Mr. Graves looked very pale. The Lees and the Caulfields were austerely calm.

Nicole noticed a smudge of a silhouette behind the group of parents. The figure was tall, svelte, and she could have sworn she saw horns and a blur of motion whipping around its legs like a tail. The glimpse filled her with dread and terror.

The view faded and then Nicole was inside the mine. She watched the children work hard, long into the night. Ash Lee directed them all, and pulled them back from accidents. Their eyes were unnaturally wide and intent, but they still talked and laughed like any children would. However, their strength was unnatural, and they worked tirelessly without even breaking a sweat. They grew grimy and smudged with black smears as they dug gold out of the earth. They went in and out of the mine hauling cart after cart of buttery metal. Canary's yellow head reminded Nicole of a bee burrowing in and out of a hive. All of the children had been reduced to worker drones. Nicole felt a wave of sorrow and disgust.

The children were so dazed that they posed no questions when their parents gave them sticks of dynamite to line the mine tunnel with. They did as they were told, not even recognizing the explosives for what they were.

Mrs. McGraedy buried her face in her husband's coat. He put an arm around her. Mr. Graves was staring at the ground sullenly. The children were sent into the mine for one last haul. When they had vanished down the tunnel, Mr. Lee lit the long fuse leading to the first pile of dynamite. The world held its breath—then a roar blasted Nicole's consciousness.

Nicole's vision was slow to return, and she could only hear a sharp ringing. She was inside the mine, she could tell by the smell of earth and the heavy coal dust in the air. A few of the children were searching, but they could find no more gold. The effects of the preternatural wine they had drank was wearing off.

They all started at the sound of a far-off explosion, and then several more. The earth shook violently and rocks and dirt fell upon them. A wood beam cracked like a gunshot. Ash Lee's eyes went wide, the daze breaking fully.

“GO BACK!” she screamed at her sister and Coalette. “GO! NOW!”

Ash Lee pushed the others out of the chamber and they scattered into another tunnel. Her frail sister tried to turn back, but Ash Lee gave her a mighty shove. Her sister fell into the tunnel just as the ground collapsed into the nearby mine shaft. She looked over her shoulder just in time to see Ash Lee scrambling towards her futilely, the earth crumbling beneath her hands and feet. Her hand shot out towards her sister, and then she was gone, swallowed by darkness. Her sister stared in shock, and then her face hardened. Her eyes empty, she scrambled into the tunnel ahead.

Nicole drifted down the collapsed mine shaft. To her horror, Ash Lee was still alive at the bottom, cradled by soft earth. She sank into it, and it filled her nose and mouth. Nicole could somehow see her through the earth, clutching at her throat, gasping for air. Her body no longer looked robust, entombed in the vast earth. She writhed, though her broken bones sent pain shooting through her. Nicole could feel her suffering, and she wept.

The young girl bucked desperately, clawing at the dirt. Then she grew weaker, and weaker still. Her vision exploded with stars. She tried one last time to draw in breath that would not come, and then died.

Nicole cried out, and then she was released from Ash Lee's experience. The relief of nothingness spread over her as she was whisked away. She was above the mine shaft now, in another chamber. Little Tommy was still mining for gold, cursing when he did not find any. He lifted his head when he heard a creek and a crack. He had just cocked his head in confusion when boulders dislodged and crushed him. Nicole felt a burst of incredible pain shoot all through her being, and she knew it was Tommy's experience. Below her, his mouth gaped wide in a final desperate gasp. His eyes rolled back then, and he was thankfully dead in seconds.

 _No more,_ Nicole thought. _Please, God, please, I can't take anymore of this. No more!_

Nicole came upon Coalette and the other Lee sister. They wandered through the collapsed tunnel clinging to one another. The Lee girl reached into her pocket and took out a small watch. It read midnight, a new day had come. As Nicole looked at it, the hands whirled around the face, and stopped at one in the morning. The Lee girl sat down to rest, hugging her knees. Coalette ran down the tunnel alone, knowing the exit was nearing. A cry choked in her throat when she came to the cave-in clogging the tunnel. She shut her eyes and tears streaked gray dust down her face. She ran at the debris and tried to dig her way out with her tiny white hands.

Coalette did manage to dislodge some of the rubble, enough to bury her. She clawed at it furiously, desperately, but more toppled out of the blockage. She dug until her heart was beating dangerously fast and her lungs burned, refusing to give up. She managed to keep her face uncovered, and kept fighting the rubble until a pain burst in her chest. The little girl's eyes went wide and she inhaled sharply. Her hands went from the debris to her chest and she cried out in pain. The heart attack filled both Coalette and Nicole with unimaginable agony. Nicole felt the heavy, bursting thuds inside the girl's thin chest. Time went on forever, a hammer of red-hot pain. Then it snapped off abruptly, and with it went Coalette's life.

Nicole felt raw and shattered into a million pieces. She could not even bring herself to fight this macabre tour of the past. She floated through the mine, the air close and beginning to smell off. She came to the last Lee girl, still sitting staring nowhere and hugging her knees. She was completely covered with soot, and appeared more a shadowy apparition than a living girl.

“It was all a lie,” the girl whispered through a dust-roughened throat. “Our lives. All of it. Life was only a lie.”

The girl lifted her head. Despite her sympathy, the murderous expression on the girl's face frightened Nicole. Her eyes blazed with fury as she got to her feet shakily. The malice twisted the youthful features into a mask of pure hatred.

“Nothing but pain,” she croaked. “Nothing but pain. Nothing but pain. Life is _nothing_ but pain.”

The girl wandered, her breath growing thin and labored. The shadows and coal dust seemed to gather around her, coating her in darkness. Even through her coughs, she chanted her bitterness endlessly.

“Pain … nothing … but pain … pain … pain … ”

The shadows swallowed her, as the earth had swallowed her sister Ash Lee. Nicole felt a wave of white-hot pain from no identifiable source, and burning fury overwhelmed her. It was as if the girl had gone up in a blaze, and was then snuffed out into a cinder. Nicole shuddered, trying to clear the morbid rage from her mind. It clung to her like a film, and she could have murdered every one of the children's parents, every man and woman in town, every adult in the entire world …

Nicole's vision went black, and then cleared. She was near the mouth of the mine, on the opposite side of the blockage that had done in Coalette. She felt pangs of hunger and fear immediately. Canary sat by a mine cart, her dress and her mother's scarf dirtied. Nicole felt the passage of time through the girl's long wait, and knew that a full day had passed since the night of the mine collapse. Canary had found the entrance to the mine blocked, and had come back to the mine cart to wait for the rest of her little team. But she knew something was wrong. The other children had been gone for far too long, and the air was painful to breathe.

Canary sat against the mine cart, breathing shallowly. Nicole could hear and feel the decrepitude of the little girl's lungs. The air was noxious after so long without ventilation. Canary tried to breathe only through her scarf, but it only choked her more. She lay her head back heavily against the cold metal of the cart.

“Mama,” she whispered, fingering the scarf. “Mama … ”

They should have come by now, the adults. She should at least hear them digging through the rubble. Why was it so silent? Why did no one come? Why was she so alone?

“Mama … ”

Canary coughed up blood and wiped it off with the scarf absently. Her eyes turned upwards but there was only dark earth all around. Her breathing hurt to listen to, and Nicole felt the pain of deteriorating lungs, oxygen replaced by toxins.

“Mama … Tommy … ”

Her friend's name was the last that ever passed her lips. Her head tilted onto her shoulder as her ruined lungs collapsed in a final effort to breathe. Her bright yellow hair fell over her face, hiding it.

The sensation of physical pain left Nicole, but she felt torn into a thousand pieces. It was too horrible, far too horrible. She wished it were only a nightmare, but she knew it was not. This was what had happened so long ago in Devil's Vein. These children had lived, and they had died down here in the airless cold. Nicole tried to will herself to wake, but she could not. She was entombed in her family's legacy, ensconced forever in the arteries of Devil's Vein.


	6. Chapter 6

Jenny Harris burst out of her room on Christmas morning. The five-year-old ran to the stairs, then doubled back. Too young to respect privacy or have any reason to believe her brother could possibly be absent on Christmas morning, she twisted the doorknob and let herself in.

“Olly, Olly!”

Jenny's giggles cut off abruptly. The bed was empty. She searched the sheets, but he was not cartoon-flat beneath them. She looked all around his room, even stomping to the closet and looking through the clothing hanging inside.

“Olly.”

Jenny's bottom lip stuck out and trembled. Then she realized that Oliver must already be downstairs. She ran back to the stairs, little feet hammering a quick rhythm on the bare wood floor. At the top of the stairs, she minded her mother's scoldings and gripped the banister in both chubby hands, going down step by step.

Jenny found no comfort downstairs. The Christmas tree was unlit, and the presents beneath it were untouched. Oliver was nowhere to be seen. She heard angry voices coming from the hallway.

“—not in the fucking mine!” Bobby Harris' voice boomed through the house. “How many times do I have to tell you, Kris? Leave the mine the fuck alone!”

“He's there, Bobby! Don't you fucking tell me where _my son_ is!” Krystal shrieked. “You're just so fucking set on sucking up to the fucking Mayor! But they were going to shut down the mine! I was there! Nick and her husband said they would shut it down for a couple days to search it! Nick wanted to help! She did!”

“Yeah, right, Nick wanted to help _you_ ,” Bobby sneered. “The bitch that used to make fun of her whole family in school. What did you call her? 'Nicky Coal', right? Always talkin' about her black hair just 'cause you were blond.”

“We were just stupid kids, Bobby, and she knows that. She's not stuck in the fucking past like you are!”

“ _I'm_ stuck in the past?”

“YES!” Krystal exploded. “You're still mourning your fucking high school football shit! You fell off your bike and ruined your ankle, it was an accident, but you blame me for it! Even if I hadn't gotten pregnant after high school, you didn't have any chance of playing college football! You didn't even want to go to college, even after I said I would stay home and take care of Oliver for you if you did! But no, you just went on blaming me and hating Oliver and blaming everyone but yourself for the way things turned out. Look at you! You're not even trying to deny it! You can't even deny that you hate your own son. If your pop wasn't such a Bible-thumping asshole, you would have told me to abort him!”

“And you would've done it, wouldn't you? Come on!” Bobby scoffed. “Don't act like your life wouldn't have been better without that damn kid, too. You would have gotten rid of him just like I would have, if we had had a choice.”

“No, I wouldn't have,” Krystal said. “I wasn't a washout high school jock. I was a bitch, okay. I get that. But I still worked hard. I worked damn hard! I was accepted into Harvard. I was going to fucking Harvard! My parents were going to mortgage our house. I was going to use everything I had saved and as much credit as I had and I was going to work. I was going to do anything I could do to get out of this shithole! You were the one that said you put on another condom, but you didn't. You used that broken condom and I got pregnant. And I wanted my baby. And I wanted you. I'm not blaming anyone for that. I've never blamed you for my choices, Bobby, not once. I chose this. I sacrificed everything for Oliver, and for you, you bastard. I loved you both. I still—I still do. I don't regret it.”

“Honey … ”

Jenny heard the sound of light slapping blows. She peeked around the hallway corner and saw her mother hitting her father's arms. Jenny's light blue eyes were round with transfixed shock.

“Don't touch me! I don't regret trying to make a family for Oliver, or Jenny, but I do regret _you_ , Bobby,” Krystal said tearfully. “I regret you. I could never, ever regret Oliver. I know you do, but I don't. I should have taken my baby to the East Coast and just raised him on my own. I never would have made it through Harvard, but I could have made it through some other college. Somewhere, somehow. I would have made it without you. I only stayed because I wanted Olly to have a father. And he never did have one. Goddamn you, Bobby. You're no fucking father.”

“Don't you say that,” Bobby said. He punched the table. “Don't you dare fucking say that! I've put food on this fucking table! I've been supporting you, Oliver, and Jenny! How the fuck can you say I'm not a father? How the fuck can you stand there and say that our family wasn't worth it?”

“It wasn't.”

“So what about Jenny? Oh, she just never should have been born, huh? _Huh_?” Bobby shouted directly in his wife's face. Her breath hitched, but she did not jump. Bobby stalked around her. “If you had just left and taken your precious Oliver with you, Jenny wouldn't be here, would she? Even if he did get himself killed at the mine, that's a pretty good trade, if you ask me.”

Jenny flinched as Krystal's hand flew across Bobby's face. Bobby stared at his wife in shock. They yelled a lot, but Jenny had never seen either of them hit the other. Tears sprang into her eyes. Bobby grabbed Krystal by the arms and began shaking her. Krystal hit him and screamed at him. Bobby was red-faced, shouting right back. He raised a fist—

“WAAAHHHH!”

Bobby and Krystal were startled out of their fight instantly. Bobby flung his wife aside and ran down the hallway. He picked Jenny up in his arms. She was screaming hysterically.

“Shh, baby, shh, there, there,” Bobby hushed his daughter. “No, don't cry, baby. When did you wake up? There, there.”

Krystal slumped onto a kitchen chair and gripped her head in both hands. She was far quieter than Jenny, but she was sobbing just as hard. Bobby felt a lump forming in his throat. What the fuck had happened? He used to hate seeing women cry, he had seen his mom cry often enough to know that. When had he become the man that made all the women in his own family sob?

Bobby's face stung from Krystal's slap, but he was hurting worse from her words. Sure, there were regrets, but he thought they were a good enough family to overcome them. Hardly anyone's childhood dreams ever came true, after all. He thought they had made up enough for their dead dreams to be happy. Sure, Oliver was a dud, but Jenny was beautiful. Did Krystal really regret staying with him? Did she regret marrying him? How could she?

How could _he_ have made her feel that way? Was it because of what he had said about Oliver? He couldn't love him. He had admitted that to himself long ago, but he always tried to put up with the kid for Krystal's sake. Wasn't that enough?

Bobby already knew the answer. He nudged Krystal's shoulder until she looked up and handed Jenny to her. Krystal cradled her daughter in her arms. Jenny had regressed to her old thumb-sucking habit. Her silence was worse than her sobs. Her big blue eyes were glossing over.

“Nick and that husband of hers can't close down the mine because of the car accident,” Bobby said. “They're still unconscious. I believe you, Kris. They're good people, they probably were ready to shut down the mine and make a search. But they can't do that now and Mayor Graves isn't about to lose one day of production.”

Krystal looked almost as zoned out as Jenny. Bobby's discomfort grew. The need to act overtook him. He went to the hallway closet and threw on his coat and boots.

“But today's the funeral for that worker that died, right?” Bobby rambled as he dressed. “No one will be up at the mine today. So I'm going to go look.”

“Bobby, are you sure?”

Bobby met Krystal's eyes. Her worry was grudging, but it warmed his heart. He managed to smile as he tugged on his coat.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” Bobby said. “I … I would have gone out sooner, but you know, place has been buzzing. I don't think he's out there, anyway. Oliver's clever. I know he has his issues, but he's damn clever. I never denied that, did I?”

Krystal shook her head.

“Olly is a geen-ee-us,” Jenny offered. “When's he comin' home, dad?”

Krystal covered her eyes with her hand. Bobby saw fresh tears streaming down her face. He licked his lips, swallowed. Oliver was a dud, but he was still his dud, and he didn't want the little shit dead. He especially didn't want Oliver dead if his suspicions were right, and it would be the end of his marriage to Kris.

“I'm going to find your brother and bring him back,” Bobby said. “You just, uh, open presents and … and stuff, okay?”

“No, no, no!” Jenny shook her head wildly. “No presents until Olly's back.”

“Oh, well, mom'll make breakfast, okay?” Bobby said. “You guys eat. I'm going out looking. We'll have Christmas when I find Oliver, okay? We'll have Christmas as a family. Okay?”

Jenny nodded. Krystal looked at him with tired, puffy red eyes.

“I'm going out,” Bobby said. “I'll find him, Kris. I promise. I will.”

Krystal said nothing. Bobby bent over to kiss the top of her head, then Jenny's. Jenny seemed to be coming back to life. Krystal stared dully ahead. Bobby gave them one last smile, and left his house.

* * *

Bobby hated the idea of going to Devil's Vein, and did all he could to delay his arrival. First, he stopped at Wassen General Hospital. It was a small hospital in an archaic building, but was cleanly modern inside. Everyone knew everyone in this town, so he managed to get a nurse to escort him to look in on Nicole.

Nicole lay in a private room on the third floor. Her skin was always pale, but now she was pale as a corpse. Her dark hair framed her porcelain face, and her long black lashes brushed the very tops of her cheekbones. She looked dead, but, incongruously, she had never looked so beautiful. Bobby wanted to get closer, to go to Nick's side, but the nurse would not allow it. Bobby stared at his old best friend for a long moment. He would never have guessed that she would have grown up to be so beautiful. He still remembered the baggy clothes she used to wear that made other girls call her a lesbian (never a compliment or simple fact in this kind of town). He remembered how she used to let her raven hair fall over her face, curtains to hide her emotions behind. He remembered how she used to hide in the bathroom to skip classes or just to get away from the teasing. He would always pretend he didn't notice. She would always pretend it didn't happen.

Bobby had regretted choosing Krystal since the moment Nicole came back to town. She looked perfect enough to have stepped out of a damn movie. He had always known she had crushed on him, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. He had always known he had broken her heart by going with Krystal. Nicole had been an intimidatingly serious and smart girl, and he hadn't really been sure she _wasn't_ a lesbian. Besides, her family did own Devil's Vein, the cursed mine. Stupid childhood doubts and prejudices. What would his life had been like if he hadn't let them influence his choice?

Nicole's papery hospital gown and the thin sheets let her figure show through clearly. She would have looked like Snow White, save that her lips were gray as ash rather than red as blood. She was beautiful.

Bobby drew a deep breath, and let his regrets go. He thought about Krystal and Jenny, and hated himself for wishing his life with them away. He had taken their unconditional loyalty to him for granted, and he knew it. He had been slobbering over Nicole, just because she seemed like something better. Meanwhile, Krystal was so miserable that even the idea of raising Oliver alone seemed like something better to her now. It would be one thing if Krystal was lusting after some other guy whose face he could punch in, but she would rather be alone than with him. That hurt too much.

Bobby left the hospital. He fortified himself with a coffee and some jelly doughnuts from the nearest diner. Then he drove out to Devil's Vein.

The mine's mouth had been torn open. Machinery rested around the site like so many dinosaur skeletons. Bobby went to drink more coffee, but only drips reached his mouth. He blew out a sigh, drumming his hands on the steering wheel. The radio was playing some pop song with indecipherable lyrics, but interference disrupted the tune. Bobby shut the ear-tormenting static blast off.

After staring at the mine for several minutes, Bobby got out of his car. He zipped up his parka and trudged up the slope to the mine. He couldn't help but see it as a mouth, the stones around like remnants of broken teeth. The wind was so fierce that he pulled up the coat's hood, fake fur scratching his face.

“OLIVEEEERRRR!”

It was stupid. Bobby knew that. Still, a million scenarios ran through his mind: Oliver was scared of him, he was camping out, he was at the mine's entrance. Bobby looked around for any sign of his son. Everything was still.

“OLLLLLYYYY!”

Too still. Bobby looked around again and swallowed his next yell. Not a single bird or animal stirred. The silence was absolute.

“Oliver?”

Bobby stumbled away from the car. The cold nipped him. He jogged up to the protection of the mine. Daylight was swallowed by the hole, but so was the winter wind. It was nearly warm inside the mine, strangely inviting. Bobby fumbled for his flashlight and turned the beam into the darkness. The black ate up the brightness.

Bobby licked his lips and swallowed. The coffee tasted bitter on his tongue, and his heart was beating too quickly. He wanted to go home, but all he could see were the stricken eyes of his wife and little girl. He ventured further into the mine.

The tunnel was clearer than Bobby expected. New supports held the dirt at bay, gagging a throat into the mountainside. He wanted to call out to his son, but he couldn't bring himself to utter a word. He walked on as the smell of earth filled his nose. The sound of water dripping reached his ears.

“Oliver! Come on, kid! Time to come home now!”

Bobby's voice echoed back at him, making him think he heard whispers alongside it. The muddled sound made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and his next shout died on his tongue. The tunnel was endless, and his flashlight beam was swallowed up in the distance. His boots scuffed the dirt. Small rocks dislodged and fell, making him turn to shine his beam around at every sound they made. Sometimes he thought he heard footsteps, but some instinct kept him from calling out, some primal part of him knew they were not the steps of his son. He did not allow himself to think what else could be scuffling around in the darkness.

“I'm not mad,” Bobby said. “I'm not mad, Ol. I promise. I'm not going to punish you. I just want you home with your mom and baby sister. I know you and I—that we haven't gotten along much. I know. But your mother loves you. Jenny loves you. If not for me, just come home for them, okay? I swear to God, I won't lay a finger on you.”

Bobby stopped suddenly, his breath catching. His father had made the same exact promise the one time he had run away from home, and then broken it by giving him the beating of his life. Bobby felt moisture stinging his eyes. He stared blankly around at the desolate earth, but he saw none of it. He saw his peers cheering for him in the stands during high school football games, Krystal in her cheerleader's outfit, Nicole in her baggy clothes giving a shy smile and clapping for him. He saw them all sitting out under the stars in Krystal's backyard, talking about how they were going to escape The Shithole one day. He saw his father and the hatred in his eyes. Had he appeared that frightening to Oliver? He must have.

Bobby walked forward in a daze. Was that all he amounted to, this generation's version of his father? He had always blamed Oliver for chaining him to the town, but he knew that was bull. The Roadside Reason diner was one of the last successful businesses in town, he could have easily sold it long ago, or had someone manage it while he worked on a college degree. He could have helped Krystal home school Oliver while she took those online classes she had wanted to before Jenny came along. He could have done something, anything, if he hadn't—

Bobby shook his head and squeezed the bridge of his nose. He was freaking out. Were there toxic gases this far in? He had to pull himself together. Life was what it was. There were no take-backs. He would try to do better with Oliver. That's all he could do, try. And that kid had to try, too. He had problems, but Jenny was right, he _was_ very smart. If he could just get a grasp on some common sense, maybe they could get along better.

Bobby reached a branch in the tunnel. Had they really cleared it this far in? How far had he gone? He felt like he had been walking for ages. His mouth was very dry and bitter, and he had walked off all the energy the doughnuts had given him. There was no sign that his son had been through here. The wind didn't reach this far, and there were no footprints that Bobby could see. It was stupid to go further.

Bobby shifted on his feet, shining his light down each of the three tunnel branches ahead. He knew for a fact that Oliver hoarded his allowance, and it was all missing from his room after he left. He might have been obsessed with this creepy-ass place, but kids always got fixated on weird stuff. Bobby didn't think he would be stupid enough to go this far into it on a whim, no matter how upset he was.

But did he really know that? He barely knew his own son. What if the kid was more troubled than he knew? Could autism make someone depressed? Had he come in here to die?

 _I'll make the sheriff listen to me,_ Bobby thought. _Kris is right. We should have had this place searched earlier. I'll go and I'll make them search this place, like Nick wanted._

Bobby's shoulders sagged. The sheriff wouldn't listen to him, and he knew it. He was getting the same kinds of looks his father used to get, half-pitying and half-irritated. No, Wassen Hole disliked him more than they had disliked his father. He didn't have drinking buddies, because he had been a conceited ass when he was the high school football star. The town had wanted someone to make it in the world, a source of pride to point to, and he had let them down. He knew deep down that they had never forgiven him for that, the same way he had never forgiven Oliver for coming out wrong.

“Oliver, if you're down here, come on, son, tell me!” Bobby called. “Just tell me! I'll take you home! I just wanna take you home!”

Bobby shuffled on his feet, staring at his boots. He should go home. But what if Oliver was hurt? What if he _couldn't_ call back to him? Which way would he have gone? No, it was crazy to keep going. He could come back with whatever old acquaintances were Christian enough to lend him a hand. That made the most—

Bobby whipped his head up, shining his light ahead. He had heard a voice. It was faint, but he knew it was a human voice. He had almost caught the words.

“Oliver? OLIVER!”

He heard the whispers again. They were coming from the smaller tunnel branch on the far left. He heard a series of shuffling footsteps, very fast. He drew a deep breath and jogged down the tunnel. The light bounced off the cavern walls.

Rubble began to choke off the tunnel. Bobby had to squeeze through a thin opening between fallen dirt and stone. The air was getting thick and his lungs began to feel heavy. _Just a little more, then I'll go out and get some help,_ he told himself. _Damn this kid, does everything about him have to be so fucking hard? Maybe Kris was right. It would have been better if she'd just taken him away from me. Or, God forgive me, aborted him._

Bobby's coat sleeve caught on something before he exited the shallow passage. He pulled and pulled, but could not free himself. He swore and removed the coat, leaving it hanging in the passage. He shivered in only his sweatshirt, but could not pull his coat out. He decided to get it on the way back, if possible. He did not plan to be in this mine much longer.

Bobby looked around the new space. It was a chamber about ten feet by fifteen, with no ceiling in sight. The air smelled of decay beneath the smell of dirt. The wood beams keeping the encroaching earth at bay were so ancient that it was a miracle they still stood. Bobby smelled rotting wood as he passed them.

Someone whispered directly into Bobby's ear. He whirled around, batting at the air. Dusty black motes floated in the beam of his flashlight. No one was there.

“Ol—”

Bobby choked and coughed. His throat felt like it had closed up. He fell against the dirt wall to support himself, but the breathlessness drove him to his knees. He coughed as his lungs tightened as if in a vice. Spittle erupted from his mouth, black and foul. He vomited up partially digested doughnuts.

“Shit.”

Bobby sat with his back to the cavern wall, breathing heavily. It had been stupid to come this far. If Oliver was dumb enough to come in here, then whatever fate had befallen him was Darwinism at work. Bobby was done. He was more than done. Kris couldn't ask him to keep going after this. She could do whatever she had to do, but he wasn't going to die just to prove a point.

Bobby tried to stand, but he couldn't. His head was spinning. He just needed to catch his breath, he told himself. He just needed a moment to catch his breath.

_'Daddy'_

Bobby's eyes flew open. He looked around for Oliver, but he couldn't see anything. He fumbled for the flashlight, but it had rolled away when he collapsed. The patter of footsteps sounded all around the small chamber, but did not echo. Oliver was small, but the footsteps were too tiny and quick to be his. Were kids hanging out in this place? No, that was ridiculous, how could they be? His head was throbbing and he could barely breathe, no kid would survive in here long.

_'Daaaadyyy'_

The voice was clear as a canary's. It sang out so sweetly that for a moment, Bobby thought Jenny was here with him. He smiled at the thought, before his senses returned. There was no way that she could be here.

_'Daddy'_

Bobby looked up and saw a blonde little girl.

“Jenny? How'd you get here, baby girl? What are you doing here, h—”

The girl stepped closer.

“—honey?”

The girl stepped into the circle of light. Her hair was shorter and more golden than Jenny's. It framed a face that was unnaturally white beneath smudges of dirt. Bobby met her gaze, and his blood went cold. Her eyes were yellow—not jaundiced, but orbs of pure yellow light, burning brightly like a flame. She stared down at him, her little lips slightly curling upwards.

She was dead. Bobby had never believed the stories about the mine, had never dared entertain the thought that some dead kids were trapped inside to haunt it forever. He had befriended Nicole when they were kids because he laughed at the kids that were afraid of her and her family's mine. But he knew without a shadow of a doubt that this little girl was dead. His mind struggled to reconcile his skeptical reality with the plain truth standing before him.

The little girl knelt down before him, the end of her scarf fluttering. She reached out and touched his face. She was not a mere ghost, Bobby realized. She had flesh, and it was cold, spongy, _deceased_. Nausea flooded Bobby.

“Daddy.”

Her voice was strong, but it did not quite sync up with her mouth's movements. Bobby's head hammered with pain, and his heart lurched.

“Daddy.”

“No.”

Another child came out of the darkness. This was a little boy, wearing a cap, his breeches torn at the hems. His eyes were totally black. He took the girl's hand in his own tenderly, and brought her away from Bobby.

“Not Daddy,” the boy said.

“We can pretend.”

The boy cocked his head in consideration. His head tilted too far on his neck and almost rolled right off his shoulder. He shrugged the shoulder to reset it precariously back in place. When he spoke, his jaw fell down unnaturally, as if the hinges were elastic.

“I like to pretend,” the boy finally said. “I don't like your daddy. Let's pretend he's your daddy.”

“Daddy,” the girl agreed.

The two children, still hand in hand, stepped towards Bobby.

“ _NO_.”

This voice did echo. The chamber shook and dirt fell around them. The kids turned their heads, the boy's rolling off his shoulders and hanging slumped on his chest. He did not bother to correct it.

Bobby's heart was hammering so rapidly that he feared he would get a heart attack. His mind raced with wild thoughts, but none of them were strong enough to regain control of his body. He sat frozen to the spot, dark blue eyes darting around the chamber.

Suddenly, the flashlight flickered. It did not go out, but its circle of light was interrupted. There was a blotch of swirling black, as if all the dark motes were coming together. As they coalesced, Bobby's lungs clogged and burned. He coughed until blood spewed out on his hands. There was black mixed in with the red.

When he looked up, Bobby's eyes met a harsh red glare. The darkness had formed a shadowy figure that resembled a child. It looked faintly like a girl, made of soot and shadow. The other two kids stepped back until they were out of sight. Bobby tried to crawl back, but there was nowhere to go. Every breath he took gagged him. His mouth tasted like bile, blood, and soot.

The shadowy girl bent down to bring her face close to Bobby's. Black fluid spilled out of his mouth, dribbled down his chin. His limbs would not work. His mind was screaming for air. All he could do was stare into those blazing crimson eyes.

Bobby's last gasp was deep, his mouth opening wide. The shadowy girl smiled. Then she burst into endless motes, all of which were breathed deeply into Bobby's bursting lungs.

* * *

Krystal parted the cracked plastic blinds covering the living room windows to peek out. Snow was swirling emptily. There was no traffic. She sighed and dully plodded around the room. From the corner of the living room, Jenny watched her.

“You don't want to open presents, Jen?” Krystal asked.

The little girl shook her head.

“I know. I know, sweetie,” Krystal sighed. She kissed the top of her daughter's head. “Go play with your old dolls, okay? I don't want to spoil it, but they may be getting a new sister for Christmas.”

Jenny laughed and trotted off. Krystal sighed again and headed for the kitchen. She hated drinking during the daytime, but her nerves were singing with tension. She got a beer out of the fridge, popped the cap with a bottle opener, and took a long, deep gulp. She didn't like Bobby's brands, she thought this one tasted particularly like dirt, but the alcohol soothed her some.

Krystal was on her second beer when she heard a car in the driveway. By the time she got to the front window, she could see Bobby's car, but he was not in it. She looked at the front door, expecting him, but all was silent.

Then the kitchen door rattled. Krystal got up but hesitated. Something felt wrong. Why hadn't Bobby used the front door? Why would he go all the way around through the backyard to use the back door?

The door rattled again, and then burst violently open. Krystal's heart thudded. Was he still angry over their fight? Because she had slapped him? She had seen the guilt in his eyes, the regret. Was all that gone?

For the first time in her life, Krystal wondered if her husband was going to hurt her. Then, she forgot about herself entirely. What about Jenny?

“Bobby?” Krystal called. “Bobby, look, I'm sorry about earlier. I know you-you care about Oliver. I know you love Jenny. We'll do this together, I know we will. Right?”

There was silence. As she came down the short hallway, Krystal could see the back door. It hung open on its hinges, busted out of its frame. Snow blew in on a frigid breeze.

“Bobby?”

Krystal turned the corner and saw Bobby. He stood in the far corner of the kitchen, his back turned to her. He had lost his coat and his clothing were smeared with dirt. His head was tilted strangely. Krystal went to call out to him, but then her eyes fell on what was gripped in his hand: the axe he had bought a few years ago to clear the backyard tree lightning had killed.

“Bobby, are you okay? Why do you have that?”

Krystal's voice rambled on without any conscious effort. Her body was already moving her backwards. Bobby turned. His face was stained with black and his eyes were pure, blazing red. Despite the malice in his eyes, his expression was serene.

“Bobby?”

Krystal's voice was shrill and warbled in her throat. She stepped back and back. Bobby came towards her. She wanted to run, but she did not dare turn her back on him. _That's not Bobby,_ her mind screamed. _That's not him._

Bobby shuffled forward with alarming speed. Krystal was forced to turn. She sprinted down the short hall, stumbling into the living room. All she could think about was her daughter. She just made it to the stairs when pain exploded in her back. She was so stunned that she could not make a sound. Hot, wet warmth spilled down between her shoulders. She gripped the banister, blinking herself back to reality. She had to save her daughter.

There was a sickening, meaty thump. Pain shattered Krystal's world. She lifted a foot to the first step, then collapsed.

“JENNY!”

There was another thump and Krystal lost her grip on the banister. She fell onto the stairs. When she lifted her arm to grab the banister again, she found that it had been severed at the wrist. Her hand still gripped the banister. Her eye caught the plain golden band still on her lost finger. Her mind stuttered as it tried to process this new reality. She began to shake and choke, blood filling her mouth and pooling out.

Bobby stood over her. No, not Bobby. Bobby was dead. Krystal did not know how she knew, but she knew. Something was using her husband's dead body to butcher her. She moaned, furious with her impotence. Jenny was just upstairs. This thing was going to kill her and her daughter.

Krystal used her one remaining hand to push herself up. With a supreme effort, she thumped up the stairs. Behind her, she heard Bobby's boots thud on the steps one by one.

“Jenny!” Krystal screamed. “Hide! Get away! Go out the window! Jenny! Please! Oh God, baby, please! Get away! Run!”

The footsteps stopped. Krystal turned, and was shocked to find Bobby right behind her. She gasped and then the axe severed her arm from her shoulder. Pain sent her body reeling to the floor, where she twitched. Her eyes, so like her daughter's, stared uncomprehendingly.

_Thump_

_Thwack_

_Thump_

Pain made Krystal's vision go black. She tasted and smelled metallic, meat-sweet blood. Her mind was blasted into a dark, endless universe of suffering. Nothing had existed before this agony, and nothing else would ever exist again. Even her children were forgotten. Soon, she forgot the self that had existed outside the agony. _Die,_ was all her will told her. _Please just die already. Just die._

At last, she did.

* * *

Jenny heard her mother's screams. Peeking out her door, she saw her father swinging the axe down upon her. There was a lot of red. The smell made Jenny want to puke. She stared at the sight, her mind and body gone completely numb.

Going out the window was bad. Mom had often told them not to go out the window. They were on the second floor, and although Oliver knew how to climb down the trellis, she did not. Why would her mother tell her to do something bad? Why would she want her to get hurt?

Bobby stood up straight and began to turn around. Jenny shut her door, locked it, and ran to the window. She did not completely understand what was happening, but she was afraid. She opened the window, the cold biting through her thin nightgown. The screen barred her way. She pushed it and hit it, but she was too small to dislodge it. Tears welled up in her eyes.

There was a knock on the door. Jenny went into her closet and closed the door behind herself. She sat on the floor beneath her hanging clothes, her thumb in her mouth.

“Come with us, Jennifer.”

The voice was not her father's. It was very young, and it was a girl's. Had someone come to help her? Jenny lifted her head.

“Daddy and mommy don't care about you. Come with us. Come play with us. _We_ want you.”

Jenny shook her head. She knew her parents loved her. Even though her father got angry at Oliver, she knew he loved him, too. They all loved each other. The girl outside the room must be mean to lie that way.

“Come with us, Jennifer.”

“Go away!” Jenny yelled. She burst into tears. “Go away!”

In the hallway, Bobby stepped back from the bedroom door. He was covered in blood, and his expression was more lax now. He tried to heft up the axe, but could not. He stepped back more. The red eyes closed and there was a sigh, breath exhaled in a black mist. Then his body shook violently and his head was thrown back hard enough to snap the vertebrae. A thick black cloud burst out of him, and then his corpse hit the floor.

The cloud of soot lingered in the air, and then slipped under the door to Jennifer's room. There was the scream of a child, which choked off abruptly. Then the house was quiet again.


	7. Chapter 7

Nicole felt like she was walking through a haze. Everything was dark, everything was cold, and she could not breathe. She tried to move, but her body was enveloped by something. Panic darted through her mind, but she was helpless against it. She could only lie there, terrified, and slowly suffocate. The feeling was all the more horrific for its familiarity.

Frantic beeps brought Nicole back from the dark. She felt hands pressing against her body. Pain shot through her throat. Voices echoed around her. The pain finally ebbed as warmth spread through her body, ebbing out from her veins. All was still.

When Nicole came to, her mind was more present. She saw the blurry outline of white sheets, sunlight streaming in through a window, and the smell of cleaning chemicals filled her nose. She was in a hospital. No sooner had she realized this than a nurse came and gave her water. She was helped up into a sitting position, and her bed was readjusted to keep her up. A doctor came and looked her over. As she sat through the tests, the car accident returned to Nicole's memory.

“Jackson, my husband,” she said once she had a chance. “Is he—all right?”

The look the staff exchanged filled Nicole with dread.

“Is he dead?”

“Oh, honey, no,” a matronly nurse said. “No, don't you think that.”

“Your husband is still in a coma,” the doctor explained. “He suffered extensive brain trauma. We had hoped that when the swelling went down he would come to, like you have, but he's still unconscious.”

“Jackson,” Nicole murmured. “Wait, like I have? How long have I been here?”

“It's December 27th, dear.”

Nicole rubbed her temples. Two weeks had passed. No wonder her limbs felt rubbery and her back was so stiff. Fortunately, she could see no major damage, only cuts and bruises. She asked for more details about the accident, and the doctor obliged. While they spoke, the nurses left. The matronly one returned and served her a tray with soup, crackers, and more water. The doctor excused himself as Nicole began to eat.

Nicole wanted to see Jackson, but the nurse insisted that she regain her strength. She finished her soup, though her stomach rumbled in protest, and drank all her water. She let the nurse help her cross the room to the bathroom, IV stand rolling along with her. When she was refreshed, the nurse finally agreed to escort her to her husband's room.

“Just for a few minutes, dear,” she said. “You're not supposed to be out of bed at all. But I lost my own husband just last year, God rest his soul. If I had a chance to hold his hand again, I would walk through hell to do it, and it's pretty obvious that you would, too.”

“Thank you. My condolences.”

“Much appreciated.”

Nicole's legs were very weak, but she forced them forward. Jackson was in a private room similar to hers, hooked up to beeping, humming machinery. His face was covered by a mask with tubes snaking out of it like tentacles. It caused his chest to rise and fall too mechanically, as if he were a balloon made of flesh. His weight had diminished, his body softened, and he was far too pale. It was as if his innate strength, which Nicole had relied on so many times, had fled along with the spark keeping him conscious. He looked vulnerable, stripped of his beautiful personality, his emotions, his very will. Tears stung Nicole's eyes as she sat on the edge of his bed and took his hand in her own. His hand was as large as ever, but listless. Nicole squeezed her eyes shut and bent her head over it, letting the tears fall on his skin.

The nurse eventually came over and put a hand on her shoulder.

“I'm so sorry, dear, but if the doctor finds out I have you out here—”

“Yes. Yes, of course. I'm sorry.”

Nicole stood shakily. She bent down to kiss Jackson's forehead and murmured an 'I love you' into his ear. Then she let the nurse guide her back to her room, wiping away tears.

“I know, dear, I know,” the nurse said. “This has been a bleak Christmas-time for Wassen Hole.”

“Why?” Nicole turned to her urgently, seizing her arm. “That's right, Oliver Harris, he was missing. Did they find him? Is he dead?”

The nurse gave her a grim look. She patted her arm and brought her back to her room. Nicole pressed, but the nurse would not respond until she was back in bed. Before she left, Nicole grabbed her arm in both hands. The nurse was plump, but the muscles in her arm let Nicole know she could easily disentangle herself. However, she remained by the bedside uncertainly. Her gray eyes were sympathetic, and troubled.

“What is it?” Nicole demanded. “Please, tell me.”

“I don't want to upset you.”

“I'll be more upset not knowing,” Nicole pointed out. “The Harris family are friends of mine. What happened? Please, it will be worse if I have to stay here wondering, or read it online when I get my phone back.”

“The boy, Oliver, he's still missing,” the nurse said. “But he's better off that way, perhaps.”

“What do you mean? Why would you say that?”

“Mr. Harris—”

“Bobby?”

“Yes, Robert Harris, he … ” The nurse inhaled deeply through her nose, and said the rest in a rush, “Mr. Harris murdered his family, not counting the missing boy. It was on Christmas. Right on Christmas, two days ago.”

Nicole understood the words cerebrally, but she could not make sense of them. She blinked stupidly up at the nurse. It was only when the nurse pried her fingers off that she realized how hard she had been gripping her arm. Nicole removed her hands, let them fall limply on her lap. The breath she had been holding burst out, and the weight of the admission struck her fully.

“Wh— _what_?” she gasped. “Bobby did what? Is this some kind of joke?”

“I would never joke about such a thing,” the nurse said sternly.

“I'm sorry,” Nicole said softly. “Of course not, I'm sorry. I just can't believe it. Why? How? How could he do something like that? Krystal and—where is his daughter?”

“Dead, dear.”

Nicole choked out an incoherent sound.

“I'm sorry,” the nurse said, genuinely. “Everyone is stunned, all of us, the whole town. We haven't had such a tragedy for some time now. It was horrific.”

There was a beat of silence. Neither woman could meet the other's eyes. The room felt darker. Nicole shivered and the nurse pulled her blanket up higher for her.

“Is my phone in my belongings?” Nicole managed. “May I have it, please? My purse, too, and its contents? Is that all right?”

“Of course, dear. I'll have one of the girls bring it right up.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much, for everything.”

“No problem at all, dear. You rest now. Save your strength, you'll be needing it.”

The cryptic words made Nicole shudder. She knew the nurse meant them as a down-to-earth platitude, but they disturbed her. She stared at her hands, trying to wrap her mind around Bobby murdering Krystal and his five-year-old daughter. What the fuck?

Nicole had a charger in her purse, which she plugged into the nearby outlet. The phone charged in moments, and she immediately looked up the local news. Only the Wassen Hole Community Forum, a hybrid of a message board and a a local news site, mentioned an “incident of homicide”. She frowned, wondering why no major media outlets had caught on to the story yet. Was Wassen Hole trying to cover it up? How _could_ they cover up a major murder (and on Christmas, to boot) in this day and age?

The Wassen Hole Community Forum was a private site, and it would not let her access the article concerning the “incident”. Nicole tentatively logged onto the site with the account she had made there as a teenager. To her surprise, her information still worked. She had been in a rush, but it took her a moment to click back to the article. She drew a breath, and went back. When she refreshed the page as a logged in member, the article's truth spilled onto the screen. As she read the details, she almost couldn't blame the town for wanting to keep it quiet. She had to lie back down after reading the article, terse as it was. Her head throbbed.

Bobby—

_'I'm gonna play football good enough to get outta the Shithole. You'll see. I'll get outta here. And you two can come with me.'_

_'So girls just tag along?'_

_'Nah, Nick, we'll just all get out together at the same time. I got football, you got your crazy smart head, Kris is gonna be a Hollywood star or something.'_

_'I'm going to be a lawyer, Bobby.'_

_'And we're all gonna get outta here together.'_

Bobby had taken an axe and hacked Krystal to death.

_'Cheerleading, Kris? I thought you said you hated that stuff?'_

_'I wanted to cheer for you, Bobby.'_

_'So cheer in the bleachers with Nick.'_

_'Come on, Bobby, it's not the same.'_

_'What are you talking about, Nick? Is this girl code for something?'_

_'Shut up!'_

_'You shut up! I wasn't even talking to you, Kris.'_

_'You just shut up and play, Bobby.'_

_'And you just shut up and cheer, Kris.'_

Nicole shut her eyes as their childhood laughter welled up in the back of her mind. She and Krystal had been rivals, but they accepted each other grudgingly for Bobby's sake. He had been the bridge between them. Nick never would have thought to hang out with the Prom King and Queen, but Kris had warmed enough by the end to not make her feel like a third wheel. Bobby had hurt Nicole by clearly choosing Kris, but he had never played them both. It was imperfect, but it was the only friendship Nicole had ever had in Wassen Hole. When she returned, Krystal had been warmer than ever, despite their different lives, and though Nicole had her issues with Bobby, she still cared for him. She had picked little Jenny up in her arms, asked her what her doll's name was.

But Bobby—

Bobby had taken an axe and murdered Krystal in cold blood. Then, he had murdered his daughter, and himself. The details were unclear, but Bobby and Jenny had been found dead of asphyxiation. Nicole assumed he had let the gas leak or something. The police were probably awaiting the autopsy and forensic reports to be sure. Nicole covered her eyes with an arm as tears pricked her eyes again. The autopsies. Jesus. Nicole's mind drudged up an image of the little girl dead, naked, on a table with her torso cut and cracked open. She tried to push it away, but could not. Oddly, she pictured the girl's mouth blackened, sooty, and the veins trailing from it equally dark.

Jenny, who looked so much like her mother.

Jenny, who Bobby had been so proud of, the first person in his family photo that he had pointed out to Nicole.

Jenny, who was five years old.

Nicole clutched her head in both hands and gritted her teeth, an animal whine rising to her lips. She buried her face in the pillow to smother the screams she could no longer contain. It was too awful. It was too ugly. It was too sad. She wished that she had never woken up. The world was not worth living in, it was nothing but pain.

The words rang in her mind, but not in her voice. She heard a child's voice, not Jenny's, a voice from her unconscious dreams. Whose was it? She smelled soot and dirt.

“ _Nothing but pain. Nothing but pain. Nothing but pain. Life is_ nothing _but pain.”_

Nicole could not remember exactly who had spoken the chant in her mind. It embittered her further, yet it was soothing to speak the truth. She took up the mantra, whispering it into her pillow through tears.

“Life is nothing but pain. Pain, pain … Life is nothing but pain.”

* * *

When the worst of her misery had passed, Nicole went to the bathroom on her own. She splashed cold water on her face and used some to slick her hair back neatly. She returned to her bed and called Mayor Harvey Graves.

That evening, Harvey and Moira appeared in her doorway. Harvey wore jeans, a sweater, and a parka. Moira wore a simple but expensive black dress, heavy fur coat (real fur, Nicole could tell), and all her diamonds. Despite the lavish floral arrangement and gift basket they brought, their guards were up. Nicole hated the way they greeted her dotingly, doing their best not to offend the only conscious person keeping Devil's Vein alive.

“You must not let recent events cloud your judgment,” Moira said. She was sitting on the edge of Nicole's bed, thick pale legs crossed over each other. “I know how hard this has been on you, Nicole, but—”

“Hard?” Nicole repeated thickly. “It's been _hard_?”

Nicole had to take a deep breath before going on. She gave a humorless one-note laugh. Moira tensed while Harvey rubbed his forehead, then temple.

“Oh, it's been hard,” Nicole said. “Yeah. I've been seeing a dead little girl. My husband saw more dead kids, when? Oh, just the night when they blocked the road and made us fucking crash!”

Moira stood up and backed away from the bed.

“And now I'm supposed to believe that my best friend just murdered his family out of the blue?” Nicole asked. “Yeah, all right, he grew up to be kind of a jerk like his dad was. I get that. What I don't get is why he would take an axe, hack his wife to pieces, and then asphyxiate himself and his five-year-old daughter! Fuck!”

Nicole took a glass off of her bedside table and hurled it across the room. It shattered loudly. Surprisingly, no one came in. The staff must have been warned off by the Mayor.

“And Oliver is still missing,” Nicole murmured. “Did you even have the mines searched? Or did our convenient accident put it off?”

“Of course they searched.”

Moira and Harvey shared a look.

“They searched, and no one has been out there,” Moira said. “They're, the company, they're, ah, working on the security plans that your husband Jackson talked about. Aren't they, Harvey?”

“Oh, yes, yes.”

Nicole knew they were lying. Rage filled her heart, but she knew that she was in no state to fight this battle. She knew what going against the grain in Wassen Hole led to: accusations of insanity, hysteria, threats and jeers. As Jackson's wife, she held the power of Entry Energy during his absence. This fact did the opposite of encouraging her. She knew that Wassen Hole, and the company's shareholders, would fight her every decision. Jackson's parents would back her, but his father was retired, and his mother had never had anything to do with the company. Besides, Nicole was stuck in Wassen Hole so long as Jackson was here, at the mercy of the Graveses and the town. She was walking a very tight rope now.

“We are very sorry about your friends,” Harvey offered. “Believe me, the entire town is as shocked as you are, Nicole. The Roadside Reason diner is part of our heritage. It's one of the cornerstones of our town. I grew up eating there, as I'm sure you did, Nicole.”

Nicole nodded, staring at her hands. She remembered how Bobby had remembered the way she had preferred her potatoes in hash rather than as fries. She clutched the sheet in both hands, fighting back another wave of tears. She refused to cry in front of Harvey and Moira.

“We are all shocked, utterly shocked, by this brutal tragedy,” Moira said. “But Wassen Hole has weathered its share of tragedy, haven't we? We'll weather this.”

“It's not a storm to weather,” Nicole said wearily. “Kris is dead. Bobby is dead. Their daughter is dead. Their son is still missing. Something is wrong. Maybe all those stupid rhymes, all the superstition, maybe it was all right. Maybe we should just close the goddamned mine.”

“I understand the coincidence of the timing, but none of this has anything to do with the mine,” Harvey said. “What happened to the Harris family was awful, truly awful, but it was a freak occurrence. So was your car accident. These are tangible events, cause and effect, and completely unrelated.”

“You must be confused about it, of course you are,” Moira purred. “I understand that both you and your husband sustained serious head trauma.”

Nicole's lips thinned into a grim line as she stared at her hands. Moira had no problem making it clear that she had seen Nicole and Jackson's private medical information. The head trauma combined with the stress of having her husband in a coma would make it very easy for the hospital to label her impaired. Jackson being in a coma and her being mentally incompetent would be a gift to the other board members of Entry Energy. Jackson had told her how the old guard was sniping for his spot over many long nights of drinking. They would side with Wassen Hole and keep Devil's Vein open, just to spite Nicole and Jackson. Until Jackson woke up and was competent, Nicole would be left completely powerless.

“Yeah, okay.” Nicole blew out a sigh. “The superstitions have been getting to me, I admit that. But Oliver could still be in the mines, alive or—or dead. More kids could get in there. I want the fences put up. I want one more search done, when I'm well enough to oversee it. Okay?”

“That's fine,” Harvey said. “Just fine.”

“Yes, safety first,” Moira said.

Nicole forced a smile. Harvey and Moira looked relieved. Nicole was grateful that their scrutinization of her had waned. These two were shrewd, and more dangerous than she expected. As subtly made as they were, their threats were a slap in the face to Nicole. It took a ruthless pair to flaunt their power over a grieving woman in a hospital. She mentally promised herself not to underestimate them again.

Nicole entertained the two for a little while longer, squaring her shoulders and meeting their eyes. She wanted to burn her lucidity into their brains, so there was no question about her mental state. She also tried to find some humanity in them, but there was none beneath their false sympathies. They could not care less about the Harris tragedy, or Oliver being missing. She gave up on their help. All she could do was reassure them that she would not stand in the way of the mine's production. Once they were convinced of this, she knew she would be let off the hook. If they would not help, she wanted them out of the way—and far away. They had gotten under her skin, and she had a growing fear of them.

When she was alone, Nicole put the blinds up and opened the curtains. She could see the lights of Wassen Hole sprawled out beneath the hill where the hospital stood. In the distance, the mountain range stood proud and foreboding.

_What am I going to do?_

Nicole's chest was heaving beneath her thin hospital gown, and she made an effort to slow her breathing. She wanted to sleep forever, but she knew that was a dangerous road to go down. It would be all too easy to ask for a few more painkillers and fall into an apathetic haze. She could oversee the mine being reopened, then leave the town and the company to it, go back to Texas. If Jackson wasn't awake, she knew his family would be fine with flying him down to a local hospital.

In fact, Nicole wondered what Jackson's parents thought about all this. They put a lot of faith in their son and valued his independence, but he was their only child. Nicole felt guilt creeping into her. If he had never married her, he never would have taken an interest in Devil's Vein. If he hadn't met her, he never would have come down to this goddamned town.

Nicole called Jackson's parents. They could barely contain their worry. Miraculously, they did not blame her, they only worried about her. They were good people. Nicole felt even more guilty after speaking to them.

_What can I do?_

Nicole had not felt so helpless since she was a child. Why did Wassen Hole always bring her to her knees? She should have never returned here. This place was diseased. This place was cursed. Devil's Vein was cursed.

Nicole decided that all she could do was get out of the hospital as soon as possible. She could take it step by step after that. It would be a difficult process to cancel the Devil's Vein project, but she may be able to do it. If Jackson woke up, he would help her. She knew he would. If he never did—

No, Nicole would not let herself think of that. She would regain her strength. She would confront Devil's Vein. Then she would try to rebury all that had been uncovered.

* * *

Harvey and Moira Graves argued all through their long drive back to their mansion. Their shouting echoed through the cold December night as they stalked from their car to the house. Inside, their elderly staff took their coats, even catching Moira's fur coat as she flung it aside carelessly, and vanished as silently as they came.

Calls were made. As Moira and Harvey showered, cars pulled into the large garage. Moira and Harvey met in the hallway, wearing hooded black robes made of wool, lined and trimmed with velvet. On the breast of each robe was a Leviathan Cross embossed in red thread. The couple glared at one another for a moment. Then Harvey took her arm, she took his, and they made their way down the massive central staircase.

The mayoral mansion was bordered by a thick forest in the back. Just a few yards before the tree line, a circle of tall, thick black candles were burning in ornate standing holders. A circle of robed figures stood inside the circle of candles. Though their robes were like the Graveses', the colors of their Leviathan Crosses varied from red to gold to purple. Their breaths puffed into the cold air in small white clouds from beneath the hoods. Harvey and Moira put their hoods over their heads and walked over to the waiting figures.

The circle joined hands without a word. Chants were intoned, the myriad voices rising and falling in perfect harmony. The vocal rhythms echoed grandly in the sudden, total silence. The flames blazed unnaturally high, and then guttered until they nearly died. Above the darkness, the stars above shone all the brighter.

The wind picked up in the treetops. Rustling of leaves could be heard, the occasional snap of a branch. Two figures emerged from the forest, walking swiftly towards the waiting circle. At the head of the circle, Moira and Harvey stepped aside. The two figures walked passed them into the center of the circle, looking around at the worshipers.

“What now?”

The man that spoke was unnaturally white, and his eyes were wide beneath thick black eyelashes. Those eyes sparked like a lightning storm, yellow and green energy crackling, electric-bright in the dark. He wore a black suit, with a clerical collar and purple vestments—the uniform of a priest. A woman with identical eyes appeared behind his shoulder, wearing an old-fashioned nun's uniform complete with full habit. Her lips were black. The pair were beautiful, despite their unearthly qualities, their pallor giving them the appearance of marble statues. Some in the circle bowed their heads to them. Neither acknowledged any of the attention. They addressed Harvey and Moira Graves directly.

“What is this all about?” the priest asked impatiently.

“Three guesses,” the nun murmured into the priest's ear.

“We want to speak to Him,” Harvey Graves said as he stepped forward. “We need to speak to Him.”

“It's the mine,” Moira added. “Our town is in danger because of the mine.”

“And?” the priest said cynically. “You made that sacrifice, and you own it. Why would He want to interfere with the natural progression of things?”

“Natural progression?” Harvey boomed. “There's nothing natural about this! A family is dead, or mostly dead! The people reopening the mine are _this close_ to closing it all up again!”

“Maybe they should,” the priest said.

“Like hell they should!” Harvey exclaimed. “Wassen Hole needs this! _We_ need this! And don't you stand there and pretend that you don't care about what goes on in this town!”

“Oh, we care, we care very much,” the priest said. “But does He? Who knows?”

“Don't you worship Him? Isn't it your job to find out?” Harvey asked, grinding his teeth.

“Job?”

The priest laughed. The sound was as dry and sharp as cracks of lightning. The nun's sensual dark lips curled up in a smile. Overhead, the skies were darkening with clouds. Thunder rumbled.

“Our _job_ , is it?” the priest asked. “ _We_ serve _you_. We are kind enough to take your pitiful confessions, and dole out suitable punishment.”

“Kind? You two get off on it,” Moira said. “If you weren't already dead, we'd kill you two freaks. Perhaps we'll settle for sending you back to Hell where you belong. We could, you know damn well that we could.”

“Could you?” the priest asked, sounding bored. He looked at his pale hands, eyes tracing the red lettering tattooed across his knuckles: 'Love' spelled out on his right hand, and 'Hate' on his left.

“Moira,” Harvey said warningly.

Too late. In a flash, the priest was before Moira. They were about the same height, and he was thinner, but his presence far outweighed hers. Harvey stood before Moira protectively. The air smelled of ozone, and the sky rumbled more violently. The yellow-green eyes of the priest sparked.

“All respect to you, Minister,” Harvey said. He rubbed the cold sweat off his face with his robe's sleeve. “Please, forgive my wife. You know her tongue.”

The nun slid up behind the priest.

“We know her tongue,” she said. “It will taste just like her great-grandmother's. Don't you think?”

The priest smiled widely. He removed a strand of black rosary beads, winding them around his left hand (the one with the “Hate” tattoo). As he neared, Harvey smelled incense and ozone.

“Perhaps it is time for a confession, Moira Graves,” the Minister said.

Moira paled and stepped back.

“Those things in the mine are wrecking havoc,” Harvey tried to change the subject. “We knew they might lash out a little bit, but this is something else. They nearly killed the people that reopened the mine.”

“You thought they might lash out a little? Did you?” the Minister laughed again. “You people consigned them to cold, painful, lonely deaths in the darkness of the mines.”

“Not us,” Harvey said. “It wasn't us.”

“Your ancestors, whatever,” the priest said. “It's hard to keep track of time when you're dead. Not that it even matters. What is time, anyway?”

Harvey Graves opened his mouth to answer, then shut it. The pair would not care about anything he said. Sinister Minister and Bad Habit, that was what grandparents called them in the grisly stories they told their children about them. They had not been dead very long, compared to some of the beings that lingered in the town, but their presence had quickly grown to be feared. They served Satan with a fervent righteousness that rivaled the most devout of God's servants, and had died in a ritual devoted to their master when their church was struck by lightning (some say by the hand of God himself). Since then, they had spent their eternal unrest sadistically forcing those unfaithful to Satan to confess their trespasses, and relishing the punishments doled out.

“Your families sacrificed those five children to keep the secret of what was found in Devil's Vein,” Sinister Minister said. “Not a bad investment, was it? All the families are still here, aren't they? Still nice and fat and rich, after two hundred years.”

“More than worth the lives of a few children,” Bad Habit said.

“We _won't_ be here much longer if this goes on,” Harvey said. “The Harris family was all but wiped out. The woman whose husband is running all of this wants to close the mine.”

Sinister Minister looked bored again. He was running the rosary beads through his fingers. The sister had draped her arms around his neck in a decidedly unchaste manner.

“Cause and effect,” the priest said. “This has nothing to do with us. You summon the dead needlessly, heedlessly. You'll pay for it dearly.”

“Very dearly,” Bad Habit cooed softly.

“Please, we only need to speak to Him,” Harvey begged. “You serve Him. You can summon Him.”

“Summon Him yourselves,” Sinister Minister yawned, though he drew in no breath. “But if we're bored with your trying to squirm out of your fate, what do you think He will say about it?”

“He'll say that His ears are burning.”

The candlelight burst into leaping flames, casting everyone in bright red-orange light. Several people in the circle jumped back, stamping on the singed hems of their robes. The priest and nun stepped aside and waved their hands in a sarcastic approximation of introduction. A tall, dark figure loomed up behind their elegant pale hands. The silhouette turned its head and horns became apparent protruding from his forehead. A pointed tail whipped around, each snap of it loud as a whip crack. Everyone in the circle fell to their knees, even Harvey and Moira. After sharing a look, Sinister Minister and Bad Habit also knelt.

“One would think that Wassen Hole was the only town in the world I had an interest in,” the figure said, “for all the time I spend here. But then, it is my hometown—one of them, anyway.”

His voice was smoky but smooth, strong as the flames. The candlelight seemed to gather at his shoes, slick red shoes that were made of a leather from no animal known to this realm; they shone like blood. The light was lost in his rich black suit, so dark it appeared to be woven of pure shadow. The darkness was broken only by a red silk tie, like a gash of blood running from his collar. He turned his face and one dark eye caught the light, glinting like obsidian. The sclera of his eye was red. No one, not even his priest and nun, dared meet it.

“Our Lord Sa—”

“Oh, now, no need for formalities,” the horned figure said. “You all know old Lou, don't you?”

“Lou—Sapphire.” Harvey managed to glimpse up. “Lou Sapphire, sir, please, you must know what is happening with the mine.”

“Devil's Vein?” Lou Sapphire flicked his arm out so that the sleeve of his shirt and jacket exposed his wrist. He stared at it, tracing the veins with a finger. “Devil's Vein. Once you go in, you can't get out again. Nothing there but death and pain. Devil's Vein, Devil's Vein.”

The children's rhyme was cold on Lou's tongue. He pressed the pulse point on his wrist. Everyone in the circle felt their own pulses beat in time to his, as if their very blood was being held hostage by him. Sinister Minister and Bad Habit were standing behind Lou now. Lou admired his wrist for a moment, then clenched his hand into a fist. A huge ruby set in gold ringed his finger, and it flashed in the light. The worshipers quickly looked away lest they be blinded.

“Was I not clear when I laid out my plans for Devil's Vein?” Lou asked.

“No, Lord.”

“Lou,” he corrected automatically. “Then tell me, what did I say that I needed you to do?”

“To-to let Entry Energy reopen the mine,” Harvey stammered. He licked his lips, dry despite the sweat pouring down around them. “To make certain that we let the company set up in the mountains, at Devil's Vein, and then in the other places you so … so generously led us to.”

“Yes. Yes, and it was very generous, wasn't it, Harvey?”

Lou bared his teeth as he snapped Harvey's name, fangs unnaturally sharp. His lips curled into a sensuous smile. He crackled with dark, malicious energy. His hair was black, the widow's peak sharp between his red horns. His tail continued flicking back and forth behind him like a metronome. He held a walking stick topped with a horned human skull, its eye sockets set with more large rubies.

“You are infinitely generous, my—er, Lou.”

“Your families sacrificed those children unto me, in return for the gold in Devil's Vein,” Lou said. “As you all suckled my blood from my own veins, your families drained that mine dry of its gold, and the power within those blasphemous strains. The sacrifice of the children assured that. Nothing else was promised.”

“What about all you've promised us for our services _now_?” Moira spoke up. “We are loyal servants, we always have been! We were bred and raised to be! And you would let these ghosts attack us freely? We weren't even the ones that sacrificed them! Our ancestors did! Why must we pay the price?”

“Moira!” Harvey hissed furiously. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back to his side. “Lor—Lou, please, forgive her.”

Lou stood staring at the woman. The only sound was that of his tail swishing back and forth. He straightened up, lifting his head with casual arrogance, and tapped the foot of his walking stick on the ground. Harvey and Moira were pulled to their knees as if by invisible strings. Once there, they bowed their heads on their own, Harvey almost cowering.

“The price you pay is not for the sins of your ancestors, you fools,” Lou sneered. “Look at me.”

Harvey and Moira's heads lifted in unison. When their natural instinct to blink came, they realized that it had been overwritten. They stared with itching eyes at Lou and the painful glare of the rubies in the cane's skull head.

“Did you think that some chants and 'Lord' this, 'Lord' that prayers to me would be enough?” Lou asked. “Since I've been gone, you have let this town go to—”

“Hell?” the Minister interjected.

Lou turned on him and the Minister tensed. Lou broke into a smile, however, and turned back to Moira and Harvey.

“At least my corner of Hell is productive,” Lou said. “The nickname your youth gave the town so long ago has turned out to be prophetic: Wassen Hole is, indeed, a _shithole_. You've grown wasteful and lazy, despite your lip service worship. Now, I _generously_ offer you the opportunity to turn Wassen Hole around, and you're unwilling to make any sacrifices towards that goal?”

Lou walked around the center of the circle, tapping the skull-headed walking stick as he went. The jewels in his ring and the skull sparkled violently. Everyone still knelt in his presence, though their heads were lifted to him. He stopped before the fire in the center of the clearing. The flames rose and seemed to form wings behind him. No matter how high and long the candles burned, they never melted down.

“No, Lord—”

“Lou.”

“No, er, Lou, Mr. Sapphire,” Harvey stuttered. “We would give you sacrifices, proper ones, if need be. But this situation is out of control. The town is suffering because of the Devil's Vein children. The town is dying.”

“Again,” Sinister Minister said, rolling his eyes.

“How many times has this town died?” Bad Habit asked, twisting her own rosary beads around one pale finger.

“Many and more, and shut up,” Lou Sapphire said. “All here, be silent. Your chatter is irritating.”

The worshipers clenched their jaws, some biting their tongues out of fear. Sinister Minister and Bad Habit bowed their heads, clasping their hands in front of them like children. The wind stopped. Even the sound of blazing fire was muted. Lou Sapphire paced a few steps, tail snapping.

“The children in Devil's Vein were sacrificed unto me. Just as you do, they also serve my will, in their way. My acolytes and my children,” Lou said. “Shall I choose between them? No. I think not. All the living and all the dead, and the living dead, too, do what thou wilt.”

“But Lord!” Harvey and Moira cried.

“Lou!” the demon snapped.

“But Lou! Mr. Sapphire!”

“Be silent!”

Lou Sapphire's tail cracked as it whipped around the inner circle. The cultists bowed low. The flames were so violent that they licked the edges of his frame, but he took no notice. His eyes blazed.

“I need the mine to be open, and you need the town to be restored. We had an agreement. You bought, now you will pay,” Lou announced. “A simple transaction. Who am I to interfere with business?”

Lou straightened his immaculate jacket, the red silk tie.

“Who am I?” he asked with a sharp grin. “Who are _you_? Business is business. Sacrifices are made, prices are paid.”

Lou stepped before the fire. He looked around his shoulder at every one in the circle. Then he stepped into the flames, and was gone. The candle flames died back down to their normal levels, leaving flashing impressions on the worshiper's eyelids as they blinked. Harvey and Moira rubbed their eyes, finally able to blink.

The elite of Wassen Hole looked around at each other, faces slack in the firelight. The Sinister Minister and Bad Habit lifted their dead white faces and smirked. They walked on until they vanished into the forest.

“So we're on our own,” Moira snorted, throwing back her hood. “Typical.”

“Moira, don't,” Harvey said wearily. He pushed his hood back and it fell crookedly around his thick neck. “They never stop listening, you know that.”

“We're barely a step above the sheeple still worshiping God,” Moira scoffed. “Fine, so our Lord—or _Lou_ , as he insists—meets and greets. Lovely. But more often than not, he leaves us to our own devices.”

“Our devices are plentiful and powerful, thanks to him,” Harvey reminded her. “We'll just have to find a way to use them and rid ourselves of this new pestilence.”

“Shouldn't we just close the mine back up?” one worshiper asked. “Mayor Graves, your own ancestor died gruesomely because he went digging for things that should stay buried. Would you have us all meet the same fate?”

“Why do these robes make everyone so melodramatic?” Moira scoffed. “This town thrives on death! It always has! We've survived worse zombies than these children.”

“They're ghosts and zombies, or some freak combination of the two.”

“Even for Wassen Hole, they're weird.”

“Their power is—”

“Finite!” Moira said. “They may serve Satan, but they are not He! They are not even on of His accursed incarnations, like Lou Sapphire. They are tantrum-throwing brats, and we'll see them grounded back in their goddamned mine—permanently, this time! Do you all understand?”

Murmurs of agreement weakly went through the circle.

“Everyone go home, or go to the library,” Moira said. “I want everyone to brainstorm. I don't care how dark or old the magic is, appeal to the Elder Gods if you must!”

“Moira!” Harvey exclaimed.

“Why not?” Moira said. “If Lou Sapphire won't help, then we'll go to those that will. He will look the other way, he has no choice.”

“Let us hope times are not that desperate yet,” Harvey said. “The last time that we appealed to the Elder Gods, half our circle went hopelessly mad. Everyone, please, do as much as you can. We will meet again in eight days.”

A closing incantation was said, the candles were put out, and the circle dispersed towards the mayoral mansion. Smoke lingered in the air behind them, along with the smell of sulfur and church incense. In the forest, various dead denizens of Wassen Hole chattered over the recent events. Like vultures, they speculated over how many pickings the town's recent catastrophe would give them.


	8. Chapter 8

After a few days, Nicole got her sense of time back. Today was New Years' Eve. Though she had insisted upon being discharged yesterday, she returned to the hospital that night. She sat on the edge of Jackson's hospital bed, gripping his hand in her own. He no longer needed the machines to keep him breathing, so she could stroke his face freely. The room's lights were dimmed and a muted television displayed the celebrations at Times Square.

Nicole watched the countdown listlessly. It was strange to realize that there was still so much joy and life left in the world out there. She felt like she was watching from a colder, darker realm. Wassen Hole had no official fireworks display, only private parties that set off their own fire hazards around the suburbs and private homes. She had never been invited to one, until now. Harvey and Moira Graves had sent her an invitation to their annual event, and she had promptly thrown it in the trash. She wondered if Bobby and Krystal had ever set off a few rockets for their children, or watched a neighbor's display from their own backyard. If Oliver really had died in the mine, none of the family would ever welcome another new year. If Jackson never woke up, neither would he.

Nicole turned the TV's sound up a little to distract herself. The sparkling ball finished its descent as the clock struck midnight. Nicole turned to Jackson and kissed his lips.

“Happy New Year, baby.”

Nicole's composure broke and she leaned over his arm. She gripped his hand in both her own, sobbing softly. She had hardly slept since being discharged from the hospital yesterday. First, she had finalized plans to have the mine searched once more, and made sure security would be put in place before work resumed after the holidays. Then, she spent the day researching Wassen Hole. Her mind was full to bursting with grisly legends, ghost stories, myths, and all kinds of macabre lore involving the area. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the faces of the children that had died in Devil's Vein. When they weren't haunting her, she saw Bobby and his dead family. Her dreams were all nightmares, ones that did not end upon waking.

A pressure on her hand broke Nicole out of her misery. She lifted her head, eyes wide. She doubted her senses, but then Jackson squeezed her hand again. He shifted, and then his eyes fluttered open. Nicole gave a choked sob of surprise.

“Hey, darlin',” Jackson said hoarsely. “Are you crying?”

Jackson reached up to stroke her hair, but began coughing. She gave him water from the bottle she had brought for herself, wiping her tears on her sleeves hastily. She wanted to talk more, but could take no chances. She kissed him quickly, and went to get someone. The nurses were already on the way, and the doctors followed. She waited while they checked her husband over. She was told to let him rest soon, and they were finally alone again.

“I can't believe I've been lying here this long,” Jackson drawled. “My arms and legs feel like rubber. Let's pull a runner, huh?”

“You need a little more rest,” Nicole said. “Soon. We'll get you out of here soon.”

“Hell, I missed midnight,” Jackson said. “Didn't even get my first kiss of the year.”

“I kissed you,” Nicole said, her voice cracking. “You just hadn't woken up yet.”

“Guess my timing's too off to ever play Snow White. How about a do-over?”

They kissed for a long, breathless moment. Jackson put an arm around her, and she lay halfway over his chest. His warmth, that natural glow that always defeated her inner chill, was already returning. She breathed in his scent, her head rising and falling with the natural rhythm of his breathing. He was still weak, but he had never felt so alive. The TV was still on, showing footage of celebrations from around the world.

“What's wrong?” Jackson asked. “When I woke up, I thought I was paralyzed or something, but the doc says I should make a full recovery. So what is it? What's wrong?”

“You need to rest, Jackson,” Nicole said. “I don't want to worry you with anything. Not now. It's late.”

“I've rested enough,” Jackson said. “You look like _you_ haven't slept a wink. Please, Nicole, I'm here now. You know I don't like being treated like an invalid.”

“I'm not doing that, Jack.”

“So let me be strong for you, like always,” Jackson said. “Just lean on me, darlin'. Come on.”

“Fine.” Nicole sighed, buried her face in his thin hospital gown a moment. “All right. But it's bad. Jack, things are really, really bad.”

Nicole explained everything that had happened since the car accident. Jackson had a difficult time wrapping his head around the Harris family murder-suicide. Nicole hated to burden him with it, but it was a relief to share her grief. She cried a little again, and this time his arms were wrapped around her.

“I don't know what to say,” he said. “I mean, I'm sorry, but that doesn't really cover it. I can't believe anyone would do a thing like that.”

“I don't believe that Bobby was completely responsible.”

“What? You mean, someone else made him do it, or what?”

“Jack, do you remember why you swerved off the road?” Nicole asked carefully. “Do you remember what we saw? On the road?”

“I don't know what I saw,” Jackson said. “It was late, and we had been getting really weirded out. I know reopening Devil's Vein was getting on your nerves, and the stories must've been getting to me, too. I don't know, Nicole.”

“They were children. In the middle of the road. _The_ children, Jackson,” Nicole said. “The ones that died.”

“Nicole … ”

“Please don't deny it,” Nicole begged. “I know you saw it. You told me you saw two of them at the mayor's house, didn't you? You remember that.”

“Yeah, but it could have just been some local kids. Playing a joke, you know?”

“Jackson, please.”

“We're talking about kids that have been dead for almost two-hundred years, Nicole,” Jackson said. “Now, I do think that maybe all those old stories and stuff have gotten into people's heads, that's perfectly natural, and maybe that has played a part in all of this. But to blame everything going on on dead kids out for revenge … it's not just supernatural, it's … ”

“What? Evil? It _is_ evil, Jackson,” Nicole said. “I'm sure those children were innocent once, but they're not anymore. They wanted us to crash, probably wanted us to die! And somehow, I know they got to Bobby. I know it! He wouldn't have done something like that, not even after he grew up to be the way he is. He wouldn't go that far. Especially not with his daughter, he loved her so much. I saw the way he looked at her, how much he wanted to protect her from the world. There's no way.”

“People do crazy things, usually _because of_ love, Nicole,” Jackson said gently. “Maybe he snapped, killed his wife, and didn't want his daughter to grow up with that pain. You did say that the guy argued with his wife a lot over their other kid, right? And he's still missing?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Maybe they were fighting over the kid running away, and it got out of hand,” Jackson reasoned. “Things go too far with some people, and that guy Bobby had a violent temper, we both saw that.”

“Yeah. He did.”

“I know it's hard to accept, darlin', but monsters aren't always monsters. They're not even always strange faces on the news,” Jackson said. “They're usually hiding inside people we know. People we love, even.”

Nicole shook her head, but she could not deny the same rationale had crossed her mind these past few days. The fact that Bobby had asphyxiated himself and his daughter spoke to a certain kind of merciful decision on his part, hardly the action of a man totally possessed by a vengeful spirit. Still, she could not shake the feeling that something unnatural was going on in Wassen Hole.

“What about those children you saw?” Nicole asked. “You told me you saw two children at the mayor's mansion, and I know we both saw a row of kids in the middle of the road. Besides, I had been seeing that little girl, and hearing things in the night.”

“Have you been lately?”

“Well, no, but I just got out of the hospital yesterday,” Nicole said. “Jack, Wassen Hole has always been strange. Things happen that no one can explain. The history of the town is dark, very dark, and Devil's Vein is one of its darkest chapters.”

“I think this town isn't good for anyone,” Jackson said. “Why don't you go home and start packing? We'll leave the rest up to our people and the locals. I've just about had it with the cold, anyway. We'll go home to sunny old Texas and make up for all this mess in the new year. How's that sound?”

“I can't leave now.”

“Why not?”

“Well, Oliver Harris is still missing, for one thing.”

“Nicole, that's a shame, but he isn't anything of ours,” Jackson said. “He's lucky that he did run away, if his father was a time bomb like that. He probably already left this town. No one has found him in the mine, right?”

“No.”

“Then he's split, and he'll most likely stay gone when he reads about what happened to his family on the internet,” Jackson said. “I know it's sad, but there's nothing you can do about it.”

Nicole sat up, brushing her hair out of her face. She stared at her hands despondently. A part of her was disappointed that her husband did not believe her when every instinct was screaming at her that something was wrong in Wassen Hole. Another part wanted desperately to cling to his logic and believe the world still had some sanity left.

“Come on, darlin', haunted mines are so 2016,” Jackson smiled. “It's 2017 now. Leave that stuff behind.”

Nicole turned to him. She might have argued, but then she saw something behind the confidence in Jackson's dark blue eyes: fear. It dawned on her that he _did_ remember what he had seen the night of the accident, and remembered it quite clearly. Jackson could not accept it because it frightened him. He looked older, yet more vulnerable. Nicole decided to drop the subject and let him rest. He had been strong for her so many times, she could at least do the same for him this time.

“Maybe we should leave this place behind,” Nicole agreed. “You're right, Jack, it's a new year. I never wanted to come back here in the first place. Once you're well enough, we should probably go. We should go.”

“A dose of home sweet home wouldn't hurt,” Jackson said. “Oh, hey, can I use your phone? I should probably let my folks know I'm all right.”

“Of course. I'll go get you some more water.”

“You don't have to leave.”

“I have to pee anyway. I'll be right back.”

“Okay, darlin'.”

Nicole left the room to give him his privacy. The hospital halls were empty and smelled of cleaning chemicals. Hugging her arms across her chest to keep the chill out, she went down to the small waiting area at the far end of the floor. She noticed that the nurse's station was empty, and frowned as she entered the women's restroom. Were they also taking a bathroom break? Surely, they wouldn't leave the station unattended at this hour.

When she exited the restroom, the hospital hallway seemed dimmer. The nurse's station was still empty. She was about to approach it when she heard the water running inside the restroom. Had she forgotten to shut it off? She went back inside, and froze in her tracks. The air was ice cold, and the door slammed shut behind her. Every faucet was pouring black water. It splashed and spluttered over the sinks, shooting black drops to the floor and onto the mirrors.

Nicole reached back and grabbed the door's handle. It refused to turn. She faced the door fully and pulled the handle with both hands. Desperate, she pounded on the door, calling to be let out. There was only silence outside the restroom.

Nicole let go of the door handle, so cold her hand was sticking to it. She faced the restroom again. The lights were flickering, and their light was now waxy yellow. She was hardly surprised to see the little girl with pure coal-black eyes and the gray dress standing in the back of the room. The entire restroom was sooty now, and it smelled of soil. The bathroom stall posts looked like beams supporting a tunnel into the earth.

“What do you want?!” Nicole shouted at the girl. “Why are you doing this?!”

For the first time, the apparition spoke. Her voice echoed faintly, as if from a great distance away, but there was no hostility in it. The words did not quite sync up with the movements of her blackened little lips.

“They want it back,” she said.

“Who? What do they want? What do you want?”

The girl held out her hand plaintively. The gray streaks of dirty tears down her face looked fresh. Her brow furrowed and she cocked her head.

“Give it back?”

“Give what back?” Nicole asked. “What do you want? Please, just tell me! Tell me already!”

The apparition grew hazy, then solidified. It flickered again. The cavern-like vision that had overtaken the restroom also dimmed, white tile and beige metal seeping through. Nicole felt dizzy.

“Give—as—omis—gold—”

The dead girl's voice faded in and out. Reality shifted back and forth between the restroom and the mine. Nicole's head exploded in pain and she gripped it in both hands. Visions of the girl's death poured into her mind, as clearly as if they were her own memories. It was said that you could not remember pain, but Nicole _did_. She remembered the girl's agony and almost shared it again.

“That gold is gone,” she panted. “Spent—ahh! It was spent ages ago! There's no way to—to get it back. I'm sorry.”

“—mus—ac—omised—”

“Wait!” Nicole shouted as the vision faded almost to nothing. “Don't go! Please, let me help you! Co—Coalette!”

The mine was still barely imposed upon the reality of the hospital restroom, but the girl's apparition grew clearer. She stepped closer, bare feet rippling through the black water that had flowed down to the floor. She looked up at Nicole curiously.

“That's your name, isn't it? Coalette?” Nicole said. “I know … I know what happened to you all. I know how terrible it was. And I-I know … I know you were a part of my family, a long, long time ago. You … and me … we … we're connected by more than the mine. We're blood. We're family.”

The girl was motionless. Nicole knelt down. Those pitch-black eyes bore into her own, and she fought not to shiver.

“Please, tell me what to do,” Nicole begged. “Let me help you be free.”

“We will never be free,” Coalette said softly, mournfully. “The mine is our home now.”

“It doesn't have to be that way,” Nicole said. “I can help you.”

“The gold must be returned to us, to our home, to _Him_.”

“But it's gone, little one. It—”

“ _No_!”

The faucets burst, spewing water violently. Tears of gray streamed from the girl's eyes but vanished just after falling down her face. Her hands gripped Nicole's, burning Nicole's skin. Nicole bit back a cry of pain. The girl's face was very close now, and her eyes were two voids.

“They have it,” Coalette whispered. “ _His_ gold. The Mine's gold. The arteries of Devil's Vein. Give them back.”

“I don't understand.”

“Give them back!”

The whisper scratched Nicole's ears, then whistled out into a shriek of subterranean wind. Nicole jerked her aching hands away and fell back. When she opened her eyes again, the bathroom was totally normal. Not even the black water remained. One last breath of white escaped Nicole's lips, and then the temperature was normal again. Nicole looked down at her hands and saw tiny, dark red handprints. A few moments more, and she would have been frost-bitten. She slowly got to her feet, turning around in a circle aimlessly, but the vision had ended.

 _Is it me?_ Nicole wondered. _Am I crazy? Have I slowly been going crazy ever since I got back to Wassen Hole? Maybe there was only a deer in the road that night, and my stories made Jackson think it was kids. Maybe it's all me. Maybe it's all my fault._

Nicole opened the restroom door without issue. The nurse's station was now occupied by two older women, talking amongst themselves softly. Nicole crossed her arms across her chest, hiding her shaking hands in her armpits. She went to the vending machine and got a water.

By the time she returned to Jackson's room, he had fallen asleep. She shut off the TV and set the water on the bedside table. She could not bear the thought of returning to her home in the shadow of the mountains, so she settled into a hospital chair. Before long, she was asleep.

* * *

Nicole awoke to find Jackson arguing with the doctor. He wanted to be discharged, but the doctor wanted him to stay for additional tests and monitoring. Nicole managed to convince Jackson to remain in the hospital for at least another day. He grudgingly agreed. They spoke for a little while, then she left him to his breakfast, promising she would go home and start packing.

In the light of day, the harrowing fear of her visions faded. Jackson had to be right, this all had to be in her mind. She had returned to Wassen Hole expecting to find darkness, and so she had seen it everywhere. The Harris family tragedy was the final straw, almost driving her to a total breakdown. But she would not—she _could not—_ let that happen. She would wait until Jackson was strong enough, and then she would leave Wassen Hole for the last time.

Nicole drove through town slowly, letting herself see it for the first time since leaving the hospital. She let her loathing have free reign, hoping it would fuel her need to escape the town again. She cursed the shabby old buildings, crumbling from their roofs down. She was disgusted by the boarded up storefronts and abandoned lots. The sidewalks cracked, but no plants ever grew in the exposed dirt. Nothing grew in the town, even the most well-tended flower-boxes and houseplants died. A teacher that had moved in from out of town had tried to have a small garden as a class project outside the elementary school when Nicole was a kid; nothing had survived, the kids had been upset, and the teacher had moved away six months later. It was an ugly town, full of ugly legends and ugly secrets. There was not a single place she remembered fondly.

As if in defiance of her hatred, the Roadside Reason diner came into view. Nicole's throat got tight and she swallowed hard. The rage was doused, and she could not rekindle it. She turned onto a side road to avoid seeing it. The rest of the drive to her childhood home saw her once again ensnared by misery.

The house was quiet and as shabby as ever. Nicole did not give herself a chance to hesitate. She went inside, straight up to the bedroom, and lugged her suitcase out from beneath the bed. She stuffed Jackson's and her own clothing into it indiscriminately, not bothering to fold anything. She wrestled it shut when it was full, cursing at it and hitting it finally. She leaned over it in exhaustion, holding her head in her hands.

There was a knock on the front door. She tensed, but soon realized it was no supernatural entity. The knocks were timid at first, then louder, clearly human. Nicole left the chaos of the half-packed room and thumped down the stairs. She opened the door, and was stunned to find Oliver Harris on her doorstep.

“Miss Nicole?”

Oliver was thinner and paler than he had ever been. His large green eyes were dazed, ringed with dark circles. He wore a green parka, blue jeans, and several sweatshirts, every item of clothing streaked with dirt and damp with snow. His light brown hair fell to his shoulders and into his eyes. He smelled like an old campsite. There was a backpack slung over his shoulders, weighing them down painfully. The boy looked like he was ready to collapse— _but he was alive_.

“Oliver!”

Before she even knew what she was doing, Nicole bent down to embrace him. The boy was startled and lifted his hands in protest a moment. Then he was still, his face buried in her shoulder.

“Miss Nicole, I—I'm sorry, I'm so—I—”

Oliver made a small, squeaky sound, and Nicole felt tears soaking through her shirt. She hugged him tightly, then led him inside. Oliver wiped his face with a very dirty sleeve, smudging his face. Nicole helped him ease the backpack off his thin shoulders and get out of his coat, sweaters, and boots. He wanted to talk, but she would not hear of it until he had a hot bath and ate something. Oliver was too weak to protest, and let himself be marched upstairs like a small child.

Nicole made sandwiches while Oliver bathed upstairs. He soon joined her, wearing one of Jackson's tees like a nightshirt and a pair of his socks bunched up around the ankles. He sat on one of the stools around the kitchen island and drank from the tumblers of juice and water Nicole had set out.

“Your clothes are being washed,” Nicole said. “Here, eat. You must be starving.”

Nicole set a plate of sandwiches and potato chips in front of the boy. She sat down at the dining table beside him, and found herself at a loss for words. Did Oliver know what had happened to his family? The memory of it and imagining how the boy would feel made tears well in Nicole's eyes. She drew a very deep breath, telling herself to be strong for Oliver's sake. The boy started eating slowly, then hunger overtook him and he wolfed down a sandwich and half the chips.

“Oliver, where have you been?” Nicole decided to start slowly. “It's been weeks.”

“One month, two weeks, and three days,” Oliver said precisely. “I've been living outside the mine, in the woods. I get food at the gas station outside the town limits once every weekend.”

Nicole did not know what to do with this practical explanation. Was it possible that Oliver did not know about his family? Would she have to be the one that told him? How would he react? Would he break down, or shut down? Nicole felt leagues out of her depth.

“Oliver, a lot has happened since you've been gone,” Nicole began. “I was in a car accident. I was unconscious until recently. When I woke up, I—I found out that something happened. Something happened at your house, to your—”

“I know.”

Oliver lifted his head and his large light eyes met hers. The thunder-stricken expression in his gaze broke Nicole's heart. Though he looked even younger physically due to his weight loss, his expression made him seem older—far too old for his thirteen years. His eyes were dry, but they looked wrung out, as if they had already cried all the tears his body could hold.

“I know everything that happened,” he said. “It was my fault. All of it.”

Nicole tried to smile and reassure him, but the expression died before it met her features. His certainty made her blood run cold. Oliver lowered his eyes to his plate, pushed it away. He intertwined his fingers and leaned his chin on them, like a middle-aged man.

“Oliver, I'm-I'm sure that's not true,” Nicole said. “Why don't you start at the beginning, okay?”

“All right. I was going to go with them, the dead kids in the mine,” Oliver said. “After you passed out at Devil's Vein and dad, well, punished me, I realized no one was ever going to listen to me. So I thought that if I went with them, maybe they would be appeased for a while.”

Nicole would have been amused that such a young kid could use that word correctly, under lighter circumstances.

“They've always tried to get me to come with them,” Oliver said. “That's why I've spent so much time researching the mine ever since I did that stupid dare and spent the night there. I thought that maybe I could find a way to set the ghosts free or at least get them to back off or something. Some things have worked, but they've been stronger since the mine was reopened. They're very strong now.”

“But they didn't hurt you, did they?” Nicole asked. “Are you hurt?”

Nicole had almost slipped and asked if he was dead. The pale boy certainly could have passed for a ghost. But Oliver was shaking his head.

“No, I didn't end up going with them,” he said. “I went all the way to the mine, but then I … I chickened out. I couldn't go in there. So I've been staying in the woods outside, trying to work up the courage. They talk to me, they say all kinds of things, but they don't want to kill me, for some reason. They want me to go with them of my own free will. Probably because they sense I want to do it, deep down, and they want me to be strong enough to make the choice myself. Or they're just playing a sick game with me. I don't know.”

Nicole reached out to him, but Oliver moved back.

“But I was there when my father went there on Christmas morning.” Oliver's calm tone warbled. “I saw him go inside, looking for me. I could have stopped him, but I … I … ”

Oliver buried his face in his hands. Nicole put a hand on his shoulder, but he still flinched away from her touch. She had the feeling he was not fond of being touched, so she kept her hands on the table.

“I wanted him to get hurt in there,” Oliver said shakily. “I even thought … I thought that he could die in there, for all I cared. I wanted him gone. I thought that if he was gone, I could go home. I wanted him to die. But I never thought they would—my mom and-and Jenny—I promise, Miss Nicole, I never thought they would—they would—”

Oliver let his head fall onto the table with a troubling thump, then wrapped his arms around it. His shoulders shook. Nicole used the moment to wipe tears from the corners of her eyes.

“I saw the headline in the newspaper on the weekend after Christmas, when I went to get food at that gas station,” came Oliver's muffled voice, along with a sniffle. “I knew it was them, the kids. They hate parents, _all_ parents. I should have known that. I should have seen it coming, but I was just so angry at dad. I told them I was angry at dad, and at mom for staying with him, and I told them that I worried that one day Jenny would be hurt, too.”

Oliver lifted his head, face wet with tears.

“I _told them_ about my family, and they _acted on_ what I told them,” Oliver said. “They punished dad and mom for letting me be hurt, and … Jenny … Jenny was a mercy killing. They thought they were saving her from being hurt in the future. See what I mean? It's my fault. It's _all_ my fault. All of it.”

“Oliver, kids think all kinds of things about their parents,” Nicole said gently. “You couldn't have known something like this would happen. If you had been home, you might have been another victim. I know you believe in these ghosts, but your father did have a violent temper.”

“No, he hated me, and I hated him, but he never would have hurt mom and Jenny like that,” Oliver said firmly. “Not even when he was drinking. He never hit women, he said only weak men hurt women. He used another word, but that's what he meant.”

“People sometimes do things that defy every expectation of them, every logical explanation,” Nicole said. “It doesn't mean that it's caused by evil spirits.”

“This was,” Oliver said definitely. “Anyway, after that, I knew that even if I went with them, they wouldn't stop. They're too powerful now that their resting place is being disturbed. Even if the mine was closed up again, it may be too late. Their anger has been building for nearly two-hundred years, and that wrath has been unleashed.”

“Oliver, that's not a healthy way to think.”

“So I decided to see if I could get you to help me,” Oliver said, ignoring her attempt at rationalization. “I know that you've seen them. You're an adult, so you're trying not to believe it, but deep down, I think you know better. But you were in the hospital and you haven't been back here much before now, so I've just been in the woods back there.”

“You could have called to me,” Nicole said. “Or gone to the police.”

“There isn't time,” Oliver said. “More bad things are going to happen. Please, Miss Nicole, you have to help me.”

“But if what you're saying is true, and I'm _not_ saying it is, then what can we do?” Nicole pointed out. “You just said that not even closing the mine back up would help, and that's not something I can do because you believe in ghosts. I probably couldn't even if I do—if I did believe.”

“They want the gold back.”

A shiver ran through Nicole. She hoped Oliver could not tell, but she had the feeling those feline eyes missed little. The words Coalette had told her just last night came back to her: _'The Mine's gold. The arteries of Devil's Vein. Give them back.'_

“You know,” Oliver said. “I can tell. You know what they want.”

“Oliver, you've been through a lot of trauma, and you're still officially missing,” Nicole said. “You need to go to the police, and they'll find somewhere for you to go.”

“Please don't treat me like that,” Oliver said tonelessly. “Don't be like dad and mom. Please, Miss Nicole. I'm not lying. I never believed in ghosts until I saw them at Devil's Vein. I didn't believe in anything before that. But they are real. You _know_ they are.”

Nicole licked her lips, feeling like she was the child being lectured. She hated to encourage what was probably a delusion they both shared, but she wanted desperately to be believed. She and Oliver had that in common. Nicole realized that Jackson's refusal to believe her had hurt more than it should have. She couldn't bring herself to do the same to Oliver, logic be damned.

“I've been seeing a little girl,” Nicole admitted. “Coalette. She's a relative of my family from way back. She spoke to me last night.”

“What did she say?”

“She said what you just said, that they want the gold back,” Nicole said. “She called it 'His' gold, the mine's arteries.”

“That fits,” Oliver said with a nod. He looked over his shoulder then stopped. “Get my backpack.”

Nicole stared at the intense boy for a full minute. Oliver sat very still, meeting her gaze evenly except for a series of rapid blinks. He was struggling to maintain his composure, but not all of his maturity was genuine. He was stronger than she had been as a kid, but she was worried about the toll this was all taking on him. If Jackson was right and this was all little more than superstition and coincidence, then she was accompanying Oliver down a psychologically dangerous road. She knew that if she chose to delve further into the mythology of Devil's Vein with Oliver now, there would be no going back. She should be the responsible adult and call the police, get Oliver some help. This boy had no one else now, he needed care, not indulgence.

Nicole rose from her chair without an argument. She went down to the laundry room in the basement, not wanting to spook Oliver by making the call in front of him. She removed his clothes from the dryer and folded them into a neat pile. Then she took out her cellphone to call the authorities and get Oliver looked after.

When she looked up, she saw Coalette. There were no strange sounds or flickering lights, the little girl was simply standing there in the room's doorway. She said nothing, simply watched Nicole. Nicole's hand went limp against her side and she dropped the cellphone. It clattered, she blinked, and she was alone again.

Nicole knelt to pick up the phone, and then pocketed it. She grabbed Oliver's grubby, battered backpack up. She brought the pack and his clothing back up to the dining room. He excused himself to change in the bathroom. Nicole sat staring out the window at the mountains on the horizon.

Oliver returned in his jeans and only one of his many sweaters. He spilled the contents of his backpack out onto the kitchen table. He took his time arranging the notebooks, binders, and library books into several neat stacks and piles. He looked like he was preparing for a school project presentation. Nicole smiled a little, reminded of how passionate she had been about her science projects. Those were the few times in school when she could fully express herself, and impressed the teachers, if not the bored students.

“I've learned a lot about this town, but we don't have time to go over everything,” Oliver said. “The important thing is the mine, Devil's Vein.”

Oliver opened a binder full of copied photos. He pointed to a picture of four men standing in front of a mining tunnel. The opening looked small, barely even a foot above the heads of the tallest men. They all had thick mustaches and most had beards to go with them. The four men in the forefront stood out due to their full suits, top hats, and visible timepiece chains hanging from vest pockets. To Nicole's eyes, they were also very familiar. She had seen these men lead their own children to the mine in her nightmares, sending them to work until their untimely deaths. Loathing seethed through her.

“These were the patriarchs of the four families that bought and opened Devil's Vein in 1807,” Oliver explained. “This was your great-great-great-grandfather. I might be missing a generation or two. I'm in a hurry.”

The man had the family's signature pitch-black hair and dark eyes. He held his head high and glared at the camera imperiously. He had a thick mustache, no beard, and looked impatient with the picture-taking. It may have been due to how long pictures took back then, but Nicole had the feeling he had no love of photographic technology. There was a large ring on one finger, but Nicole could not make out its details.

“This would be Coalette's father?”

“Yes, though she would have been either not born or only a baby when this was taken,” Oliver said. “Devil's Vein was a coal mine, and was considered a good, steady investment. This was years before the gold rush that started in the mid-1800s. Devil's Vein was rich, and Wassen Hole was founded nearby as the mine provided for more and more miners. The place was a lucky find for the four owners, as there were rumors that they were escaping from some trouble back east and needed a new place to settle.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“All evidence suggests that they were cultists,” Oliver said. “Devil worship. Those rumors still plague Wassen Hole to this day. Anyway, the story of Wassen Hole was the same as those of any of the hundreds of coal mining towns of the time, until 1816.”

Oliver flipped through the photocopied pictures slowly, pointing out several to Nicole. A lump formed in her throat as she saw how happy the people looked. She remembered the children sitting outside the mine in the grass, having a picnic, laughing and playing.There were no pictures depicting Coalette or the two children Jackson had described to her, but there were plenty of others taken of mothers, children, stern-looking fathers. Young brash men grinned through exhaustion and grime, some still holding their mining tools. The labor was hard and physically ruinous, but in those days it could mean the difference between watching your family starve and freeze slowly in the wilderness. Nicole had seen too many of Entry Energy's mines in other countries and too many factories to kid herself that humanity had outgrown forcing such choices on its less fortunate. She had tasted only the barest flavor of desperation in childhood, and had worked herself to the bone to get through college on her own. She could not blame any of the miners.

The next series of pictures almost made Nicole lose her sympathy. Very young children were gathered outside the mine, even girls. They looked nervous at first, then proud, then as exhausted as the grown men.

“Gold was struck in 1816,” Oliver explained. “This started a rush, and soon everyone was working at the mine. Unauthorized men would break into the mine to try and find gold in the dead of night. People murdered each other over even small hauls. Wassen Hole descended into chaos, and the four owners found their profits being stolen more often than not. That was what started the rumors about the gold being cursed, but it was just stupid human greed.”

The next wave of pictures were of funeral processions and families in mourning attire.

“I can only speculate, but the owners of the mine must have gotten pretty desperate,” Oliver said. “They were most likely living a double life: pretending to be respectable men while actually worshiping the Devil. Being rich meant that they wouldn't be questioned. The whole town depended on them, so they were beyond suspicion. If they lost all of that wealth by letting the mine be drained dry by thieves and anyone that could pick up a pickaxe, they would be in danger again. Besides, it was a matter of pride, since it was their mine. So, they devised a solution.”

Oliver rubbed his face. He blinked a few times rapidly again. Nicole realized it was a nervous tick.

“The rest is from what the children have told me. There was a special strain of gold that was struck, but no one aside from the cultists knew what it was,” Oliver said. “The normal people thought it was fools' gold or some contaminated metal because of the way it shone whitish sometimes. This was sulfuric gold, a strange combination of the two elements that shouldn't be possible. Sulfur is associated with the Devil, so the cultists thought that gold was sacred. The extremely rare deposit was broken into four large nuggest, and they were distributed among the four families. They called them the 'Arteries' of Devil's Vein. That gold gave their magic a lot of power. A _lot_.”

Nicole shuddered and looked around the kitchen. She could have sworn someone had been watching them. In the back of her mind, she imagined the whisper of a chuckle. A man's chuckle, but not that of any man she had ever known.

“How much power?” Nicole asked.

Oliver glanced around too, though he had not seen her do it. He reached under his sweater and pulled out a chain. At the end of it was a medallion with a pentagram embossed on it and some other symbols. He held it in his palm, giving Nicole a brief smile.

“I stole this from the pawn shop,” he said. “They should get better security. The cameras are fake and I can pick locks.”

“Stealing is bad, Oliver,” Nicole said automatically. “What is it?”

“Protection, I hope,” he said. “Anyway, the sulfuric gold from Devil's Vein was what really cursed Wassen Hole for good. It gave the cult immense power, put them in contact with the Devil himself. The kids said that the cult made a deal with him to end the half-illicit gold rush and have all the gold remaining mined for themselves.”

“How?”

“They sacrificed their youngest children.”

Nicole shut her eyes and rubbed them. Her head was buzzing. She felt distant from her kitchen and its dull reality. Memories tunneled into her brain unbidden. The children led to the mine, drugged, sent inside. The explosion. The children suffocating, being crushed, falling, dying in the most horrible ways. It took great effort to push the memories back, and focus on Oliver again. He stared at her, then continued.

“The children were sent into the mine on the night of February 13th, and they worked while the town slept,” Oliver said. “They were given unnatural strength and mined the rest of the gold by the morning of February 14th. The four families hoarded it all. Then they used explosions to collapse the mine, burying their sacrificed children inside.”

“God.”

“There was a rash of mysterious deaths after that, one that only struck those who had stolen gold from Devil's Vein,” Oliver said. “No one dared try to rob the mining company again. Some families moved away out of fear, but the mining company had plenty of gold and coal left, so the town prospered anyway. They opened up other mines in the mountains, too. So Wassen Hole went on, and so did the cult.”

“If the cult is that strong, why can't they stop these ghosts?” Nicole asked. “Don't they have the protection of the Devil or whatever?”

It sounded ridiculous, and Nicole's doubts returned. What was she doing? How could she sit here discussing Devil worshipers and child ghosts with a recently orphaned boy? She had been so convinced by Jackson's explanations earlier. Why had she let herself go off the deep end again?

“It's the Devil, Miss Nicole,” Oliver said. “I guess he just doesn't care, not even about his own followers. Besides, the deal was only for the gold, and it was a very long time ago. Maybe the cult's just not as powerful anymore. Maybe the Devil wants the sulfuric gold back for some reason. Who knows?”

“Let's slow down,” Nicole sighed. “We're taking everything as truth, and it's crazy. No, wait, don't blame it on my being an adult. You have to know it's too much, Oliver.”

Oliver opened his mouth, then shut it. He drew a deep breath and rubbed his face with both hands. He blinked rapidly again, and his face flushed pink. Nicole feared some kind of outburst was coming, but the boy managed to suppress his frustration.

“Do you have another explanation?”

“Let's say there is a cult in Wassen Hole,” Nicole said. “It's a very old cult, maybe it dates back to the town's founding. Let's say they did sacrifice their children in the mine when they deliberately collapsed it. If this cult is still operating, maybe they're trying to make another sacrifice so that it's successful again. Do you think your father might have been a part of the cult?”

“No,” Oliver snorted derisively. “Dad wasn't important or successful enough.”

Nicole was unnerved that Oliver still harbored such hatred of his father even after his death.

“No,” Oliver said, more softly. “Our family is old Wassen Hole blood, but not very important. I think this cult would only recruit the top families, like Mayor Graves', his wife's, and yours.”

“No one's reached out with an invitation to join some coven of Satanists yet.”

“You left,” Oliver pointed out. “You're an unknown factor for them. But they're still using you, Miss Nicole. They're using you to reopen the mine. They're using you to bring more power to the town.”

Nicole thought of the condescending way Harvey and Moira Graves spoke to her. She could not deny the point.

“Could they have drugged your father?” Nicole asked. “Used him as a pawn? Cults use brainwashing and drugs, they have all kinds of ways to manipulate people.”

“That's all in the movies. Nothing could have made dad kill Jenny,” Oliver said. “I thought he might smack her around when she got old enough to date or something, and I worried about that, but she was just a little kid. He loved her, thought she was perfect. She was everything I wasn't, so he loved her. We all loved her. And even though mom and dad had fights, they were just because of me, and he never hit her. Never. He would have rather died than murder them. Besides, they weren't important enough to be a sacrifice for the cult. It makes no sense. It was the kids that made him do it. When he left Devil's Vein on Christmas morning, he wasn't himself anymore. He was a dead murderer walking.”

Nicole tried to think of another reasonable explanation, but she couldn't. Her head was beginning to ache. She rubbed her temples, trying to clear the buzzing inside her skull.

“They speak to me, Miss Nicole,” Oliver said. “The dead miner kids, they want their story known, and they want their gold back. They want to make an offering of their own, so that the mine can be closed permanently, and they can be left in some kind of peace.”

“If that's all they want, why don't the cultists just give that sulfuric gold back to them?” Nicole asked.

“They would never do that,” Oliver said. “Powerful people are always greedy. They'd probably let the town burn before they gave that power up. Why not? With it, they could always start somewhere else, the way their ancestors did here.”

“So what can we do? Even if all this is true, it just means we're even more powerless to stop it,” Nicole said. “I may be from one of those damned original families, but I'm not one of _them_ , whatever they are. My husband and I were almost killed already. All we can do is let the cultists and the ghosts battle it out. It's not my fight.”

Oliver looked disappointed. Anger and guilt warred within her.

“I left,” Nicole said. “I left this f—this place, a long time ago. I got out. I'm not getting dragged back in, not for something insane like this. I can't do it. I've seen enough darkness here. I'm leaving, Oliver.”

“That's not a good idea, Miss Nicole.”

“Stop calling me 'miss', I'm not your teacher!” Nicole snapped.

Oliver flinched. Nicole forced her breathing to slow. She reached out to him, then pulled back.

“I'm sorry, Oliver,” she said. “I'm not angry at you, I'm angry at this town. I always hated it. I hate it more than ever now. Jackson and I already decided that we're leaving as soon as he gets out of the hospital. I'm sorry, there's just nothing else I can do.”

Oliver was unable to trust himself to speak.

“Come with us,” Nicole offered before she could think about it. “Get out of this town, Oliver. I did and I turned out all right. Mostly. We'll see about finding a home for you. You'll like Texas, it's sunny, warm.”

“Mis—Ma'am—Um—”

“Just 'Nicole'.”

“Nicole.” Oliver frowned, shook his head. “We can't just run away from this. No one else is going to do anything about it. Maybe the cultists deserve it, but there are innocent people here. You'd really let more people like my mom and Jenny die?”

“Oliver, don't. Don't use it like that,” Nicole scolded. “It's insensitive.”

“I'm sorry. But I don't think you _can_ get away, Mi—Nicole,” Oliver said. “It might be dangerous to try. Your family is a part of this. You must have one of the pieces of sulfuric gold—one of the Arteries.”

“No, no way,” Nicole said. “There's nothing like that here. My dad was a drunk and an ass, and if he had anything like that, he would have sold it for more booze.”

“Not something like that, he wouldn't dare,” Oliver said. “Please, can't we just look, Miss Nicole?”

“Look where?” Nicole looked around the room again. “Here? In this house?”

“It's somewhere to start.”

“No. No. I'm going to call the police,” Nicole said. “You need to be looked after, Oliver. You've been through so much. You're still in shock. I have to take care of you, and then I can leave. I'm leaving with Jackson. We're going home.”

“ _Please_!”

Oliver reached out and put a hand on her arm. He was uncomfortable with the contact, lowering his hand to her sleeve. His youth showed in his desperation, and Nicole wavered once again.

“Oliver, I think we're sick,” Nicole said wearily. “I think we both let the town's superstitions get to us, and that we've gotten very, very sick.”

“This isn't all in our heads,” Oliver said. “Too much has happened for it all to be coincidence. Miss Nicole, Nicole, please, can we just look? If we don't find anything at all before your husband gets out of the hospital, then you can try to leave. I'll leave you alone, I promise. But can we just look first?”

“Fine,” Nicole agreed. “I can't leave until Jackson is out of the hospital anyway. But don't go running off again, Oliver. You can stay here. Is that okay?”

“I don't want to be a bother. I can go back to camping outside.”

“You're not bothering anyone, don't worry,” Nicole said. “I'll be glad of the company, actually.”

“Thank you, Miss Nicole,” Oliver said, relieved. “Where do you want to start looking?”

“No, no, no, you need to rest,” Nicole said. “You look ready to fall down, Oliver. Come on, you can use my old room.”

Oliver protested, but Nicole would not hear of it. He sullenly gave up, and she led him upstairs. She had only been in her old room once so far. Jackson had told the people that redecorated the home to leave it intact. She felt a pang in her chest every time she saw the cheap white furniture, the few girlish touches she had allowed herself. She expected Oliver to complain about being put in a girl's room, but he was too matter-of-fact to mind superficial details. He removed his sweater and sneakers, staying in his tee and jeans, and curled up on the bed. Nicole sat on its edge beside her, putting a hand on his head. He did not fight it.

“Do you want to talk about your family?” she asked.

“No.”

“Is there anything you want to talk about? Other than the mine?”

“No.”

Nicole wanted to comfort him, but he had shut down. She stroked his sandy brown hair a few more times, then stood. She stopped at the doorway before exiting.

“I'll be in the bedroom down the hall, packing,” she said. “If you need anything, just come get me, okay?”

“Okay. Miss Nicole?”

“Yes?”

“Leave the light on, please?”

It was daytime, but she agreed. She also left the door a crack open. She knew what it was to be frightened in this house.


	9. Chapter 9

On January 2nd, work in the Devil's Vein mine resumed. The machinery whirred to life, and the shouts of men filled the air. There were several injuries: a broken ankle, a broken leg, and one man had an inexplicable seizure. On January 3rd, it was believed that they had found one of the old child corpses, but it could not be located when a team went in to retrieve it. On January 4th, four sets of small footprints were found trailing out of the mine.

On January 5th, a minor earthquake shook the town, and set off a faulty boiler beneath Wassen Hole Bank. The explosion rocked downtown, and thirteen people died. Sinkholes opened up on either side of the bank, effectively shutting down the eastern roads out of town. The mountain routes were blocked off when a rock slide clogged the main artery out of town the very next day.

Jackson Wallace watched the weather report from his hospital bed, frowning darkly. A snowstorm was coming, so there would be no way anyone at the town's small private airstrip would fly anytime soon. He and Nicole were trapped in Wassen Hole.

Not that Nicole wanted to leave. Every time she visited him, she demurred about their plans to leave town. She mentioned the accidents, and he had the feeling she blamed the mine for them. He almost wished Nicole would tell him her suspicions about the mine, instead of hiding what she felt from him. He suspected that she was hiding something else, but he could not think of what. His wife had grown distant, her dark eyes distracted every time she looked at him. It was as if the town was taking his wife away from him.

Jackson was sick of lying helpless in a hospital bed while everything fell apart. On January 14th, he had finally had enough. He demanded to be released, threatened legal action, invoked Mayor Harvey Graves' name, and was finally discharged. He tried to call Nicole to come pick him up, but her phone was turned off, and not for the first time. He called for a car service and waited for it outside the hospital, thankful for the fresh air. Thick white and gray clouds congested the sky, and the air smelled of snow.

 _I would have thought she was seeing someone else, but the only one she was close to was that psychopath Robert Harris,_ Jackson thought. _Besides, I know Nicole, she isn't that kind of girl. I trust her. I've never trusted anyone except my parents as much as I trust Nicole. If she's hiding something from me, it's probably for my own good, or at least she thinks it is. Maybe she's embarrassed about being so wound up about the town and all its weird superstitions. That's my fault. I shouldn't have dismissed all her fears out of hand. Hell, I'm not sure I_ can _dismiss them. The night of the crash was weird, and what's up with all these accidents? I don't want to believe the good Lord would allow curses to blight His earth, but maybe it ain't called 'Devil's Vein' for nothing._

A black sedan pulled up to the curb. It was a nicer vehicle than Jackson was expecting in this town. He got into the back and gave the address of Nicole's childhood home. The glimpse he got of the driver when he looked back gave him a strange impression; he seemed too handsome and dressed too sharply for the job. He was wearing dark sunglasses that hid his eyes despite the overcast day. Lank black hair fell just to his shoulders beneath his cap.

“It's going to be a bit of a ride, what with the main roads being closed.”

The driver's voice was smooth, refined, and held a faint accent that Jackson could not place. Jackson murmured that it was fine, and they pulled away from the hospital. He had an uneasy feeling, one he had felt often during lonely nights at the hospital. He reached into his jacket and ran his fingers over his personal Bible. The car skidded suddenly, swerved, and then the driver regained control.

“Sorry about that,” he said, his voice thick, smoky. He cleared his throat. “Patch of ice.”

“Just be careful.”

“Yes _sir_.”

Jackson did not like the way the word dripped from the driver's tongue, but he ignored it.

“The roads aren't what they used to be in Wassen Hole,” the driver said. “Nothing is what it used to be.”

Jackson was not in the mood for chit-chat. He made a noncommittal sound, staring out the window. He felt the driver's eyes on him and checked the mirror, but he could tell nothing for the dark sunglasses.

“But you're here to change all that, aren't you, _sir_?” the driver persisted. “You're Jackson Wallace, aren't you? From Entry Energy?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that's me,” Jackson replied, forcing politeness. “Are you from Wassen Hole, then?”

“I'm from a bit of all over, but you could say I spent a lifetime here,” the driver said. “A few, actually.”

“And you're still here.”

“I come and go,” the driver said. “Hell knows why. I suppose I'm loath to quit places that have been kind to me. But this place hasn't been the same since '66.”

Jackson thought he must have misheard. There was no way this young man could possibly remember 1966. Perhaps he was older than Jackson thought, and had meant '86, but even that was pushing it. Jackson studied him in the driver's mirror but could find no trace of wrinkles on his smooth skin.

“Things were going gloriously during my last incarnation here,” the driver said nostalgically. “My church was the only church in town, and it was going strong. Everyone wanted a deal made back then, chasing the wonders they glimpsed through psychedelic fever dreams. What wonderful orgies there were to be had. If only that neo-Christian hippy commune of Jesus-fuckers hadn't chanced upon Wassen Hole and decided to purify it. I still can't quite get the stink of marijuana-laced holy water out of this tie.”

Jackson's head felt hot and the view outside the car window twisted at odd angles that made him dizzy. There was something wrong with the driver, something more profound than eccentricity. Jackson felt the way he had the night of the car accident. He reached for his Bible again but it fell out of his jacket pocket. It hit the car floor and burned into cinders before his eyes. Horror crackled through him, but he was frozen to the seat.

“Wh—who—who are you?”

“I am so many, so very many,” the driver said. “But to you, I'm Lou. Lou Sapphire.”

“Lucifer.”

“No, _Lou. Sapphire_ ,” the drive enunciated. “Why is that so difficult for everyone?”

“O-Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy Name—”

“Don't bother with the melodrama, you won't remember any of this, anyway.”

The inside of the car was filled with a haze of smoke, and it choked Jackson's words off. He clutched his throat, but it filled him, letting in just enough oxygen to keep him alive. He could not speak, and his body was still difficult to move. The driver removed his cap and sunglasses, revealing two red horns on his forehead and eyes like smoldering embers. The car kept moving through the jerking, twisting landscape, but Lou was no longer even pretending to drive it. He turned around in his seat, an arm on the back of it, and smiled at Jackson.

The moment their eyes met, Jackson was transported inside his own mind. He flew through memories from his cradle onward, and knew that Lou was rifling through them. He felt Lou's mind shrink away from his many recollections of church, and in that one moment of weakness, Jackson made the mistake of looking back into Lou's eyes.

Jackson recoiled as he witnessed the indescribably hideous ritual that had birthed Lou Sapphire into flesh decades back. He had indeed lived a lifetime in Wassen Hole, not his first, nor his last. His last lifetime as a man in this town had been full of slaughter and mayhem unmatched in the Age of Aquarius. Jackson's mind bucked against the carnal pleasure Lou's mind was roused to by the memories. Lou Sapphire's malice was so strong that it tore through Jackson's mind like an electrical current.

Jackson struggled to summon his idea of God. There was a flash of light. He saw a ghostly assembly dressed in white, bohemian outfits. Prayers soothed Jackson, but a great, inhuman roar of outrage drowned them out. Threats that would later end entire families and generations spewed in a voice that was barely recognizable as Lou's. The malice shocked Jackson again, and he envisioned scenes of savage carnage. At the end of it all, there were only flames, and agony.

Jackson was thrown out of Lou's mind, and he convulsed violently. His entire body was aflame inside and out. He knew the burning was only a memory of Lou's experience, but it threatened to tear his mortal mind asunder. He screamed, gripping his head in his hands, jerking and kicking. Even Lou looked pale and was breathing heavily. The car smelled of brimstone and sulfur.

“Damn dirty hippies,” Lou gasped. “You shouldn't have done that. My memories are not for the clumsy perusal of you mud-born monkeys.”

“Our—Father—who art in heaven,” Jackson panted.

“Not this again,” groaned Lou. “Enough!”

The car came to a sudden halt. The world outside righted itself. All at once, the pain cleared from Jackson's mind. He went numb with the release, slumped in the back seat of the car. Lou's burning eyes were furious. Jackson was certain that he was going to die.

“I thought I may be able to use you, but I can see that will not be happening,” Lou said in disgust. “Well, I have enough pieces on the board to win, anyway. This is my game, after all. It's my town. Your precious Lord won't save you here.”

Lou lifted a hand and turned it. His ruby ring caught the light and flashed brightly. It caught Jackson's attention and his face went slack.

“Now forget about me, Jackson,” Lou said. “And may our paths not cross again.”

* * *

Jackson felt dazed as he exited the black car. He rubbed his temples, trying to recall the drive over. Had he fallen asleep? He must have. He felt like he had had a nightmare, but he couldn't remember it. At least he was home now. He hoped Nicole was here. He desperately needed to see her, to hold onto her and breathe in the reality of her.

Jackson knocked on the front door. There was only silence, and he worried that he had missed her. But where could she have gone? She was not close to anyone in town, and he doubted she would have gone shopping when they were planning to leave. _Were_ they still going to leave? Did she even want to leave?

The door opened and Jackson let out the breath he had been holding. Nicole was surprised, but her face lit up. They embraced tightly on the porch. He was reluctant to let her go, but he felt her shivering from the cold. They went inside, and he caught her in a deep kiss.

“Oh.”

The third voice broke Jackson out of his warm trance. He turned and was shocked to see Oliver Harris standing in the small hallway. He tried to sympathize with the orphan, but he could only feel that his presence was an ill omen. The boy stared up at him and he stared down at the boy. Nicole tucked hair behind her ear, glancing between them anxiously.

“You didn't tell me the Harris kid had turned up,” Jackson said, trying to keep his tone light. “Or that he was staying here.”

“I have a lot to tell you, Jackson.”

“Yeah. I'm getting that.”

They went upstairs and closed the door to their bedroom. Oliver went to Nicole's old room, where he was staying. He sat until he heard their voices raising, then he began to pack his things into his backpack. Oliver was just opening the front door when Jackson appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Hey!” he called down to him. “Don't you go anywhere, kid!”

Jackson's voice reminded Oliver of his father, and he froze. He cringed into the door, bracing himself. Jackson thudded down the stairs and stood before him. His hand reached out and Oliver winced, shutting his eyes. Jackson's hand merely gripped his shoulder.

“My wife was kind enough to bring you into our—into _her_ own home,” Jackson said. “Don't you be rude enough to run out on her, you hear?”

Oliver dared to look up at him. Jackson was wary of him, but even-tempered. Oliver relaxed slightly. Nicole was coming down the stairs to them. Jackson caught the concern in her eyes when she saw them together, and it stung him. Didn't she know him better than to think he would hurt a child?

“Get that coat off and come here to the kitchen,” Jackson told the boy. “I think I passed out from hunger on the ride over. Who wants pizza?”

Twenty minutes later, they were gathered around a box of delivery at the kitchen table. Nicole and Oliver explained everything they had learned about Wassen Hole and Devil's Vein. Jackson's head felt sluggish, but he managed to keep up with the gist of it all. The problem was, the gist of it all was utterly ridiculous.

“Nicole, darlin', there is no such thing as 'sulfuric gold',” he said once he had the chance. “It's nonsense, something out of alchemical fairy tales. And I may believe in all that's good and bad in the Bible, but I don't think the Devil is walking around Wassen Hole making deals with a cult of worshipers.”

The Bible. The thought of it scratched at the back of Jackson's mind for some reason. He reached into his jacket pocket, but his personal Bible was no longer there. Had he forgotten it in the hospital? A twitch of a headache shot through his left temple and he rubbed it.

“And we have had a streak of shit luck since coming here, but ghosts?” Jackson continued. “Listen, maybe there is a cult, and maybe they don't want the mine reopened. Sabotage could explain the accidents at the mine.”

“What about the earthquake?” Nicole asked.

“And the rock slide?” Oliver added.

“The earthquake probably loosed some rocks on the mountain, it happens,” Jackson said. “Look, Nicole, you know I'm a believer. But it's one thing to put your faith in God, and another to think He lets that serpent go around on Earth, doin' what he wants. If there was a cult of people worshiping the Devil, wouldn't God have struck them down by now?”

Jackson had the briefest impression of a black-haired man burning on a pyre. His ears rang painfully. Nicole had spoken, and he had to ask her to repeat what she had said.

“It's a balance of power, isn't it?” she said. “I've never been very religious, but from what I understand, God and the Devil hold humanity in a sort of eternal struggle between good and evil.”

“Like a chess game,” Oliver said.

“God's not playing chess with us!” Jackson said, horrified. “No. I can't believe that. He sent His only son to save us. He spilled His son's blood for our sake. Maybe some crazies are worshiping the Devil and sabotaging the mine, okay. But that's all it is. There's no Devil at work, and I don't think God would allow spirits to linger in this world after death. It's blasphemy.”

Nicole and Oliver shared a look. Jackson's patience for the boy was wearing thin. As petty as it was, he felt jealous of the bond his wife suddenly had with the kid. He remembered sharply what Nicole had said one night after they had emptied a few bottles of wine: that if Robert Harris had chosen to go out with her rather than Krystal, Oliver could very well be hers. Jackson thought this was an exaggeration, he knew how focused Nicole had been on her career back then and he doubted she would have let herself get pregnant so early. Now, however, Jackson wondered if it had been wishful thinking.

“Wait a minute,” Nicole said. “Let me show you something, Jackson. Please.”

Jackson nodded. Nicole left the dining room. They heard her rummaging around upstairs. Jackson caught Oliver staring at him, and the boy quickly lowered his gaze. Jackson felt horrible for it, but he hoped Nicole had not grown too attached to the kid. He still could not convince her to start a family of their own, he didn't want her to fill the role of motherhood with the child of her psychotic childhood crush.

Nicole returned with a locked steel security box. She pushed aside the greasy cardboard plates and set the box on the table. She took out her keys and unlocked it. Jackson came around to look over her shoulder.

Inside the box was a lump of gold a bit larger than Jackson's curled fist would be. It was a rich shade of yellow, but it had a reflective quality that gave it a whitish glow at certain angles. There were chalky veins of a brighter yellow color shot through it. Nicole turned it over to reveal a dark red symbol carved into the most even side. It was a double cross with an infinity symbol at the bottom. Despite the cross, the symbol filled Jackson with dread.

“This is one of the Arteries of Devil's Vein,” Nicole said solemnly. “It was entrusted to my family after my ancestors promised to sacrifice their daughter, Coalette, to the Devil. There are three more among the descendants of the mine's owners. If we can return them to the mine, to the children, and close the mine back up, maybe this can all stop.”

“Nicole, that's crazy,” Jackson said. “Honey, this is a weird artifact, but I've seen weirder in a lot of old families. It doesn't mean anything.”

Nicole took Jackson's hand and placed it on the gold nugget. It was unbelievably hot, and he thought he felt a pulse throbbing through it. Even when Nicole removed her slender hand from his wrist, he found that he could not let go. It beat with malignant life.

The dim image of a burning man returned to Jackson's mind, but now the figure was horned. His sobs of pain could be taken for laughter, perhaps the odd sounds were both things. Instead of melting, the sclera of his eyes turned molten red, and the irises turned into black voids.

_1966_

Jackson snatched his hand away, swearing, and stumbled back. He tripped over a chair and fell into the wall. Nicole rushed to his side. Jackson put his arm around her shoulders, looking at her with wild terror on his face. He looked down at his hand and found the palm scorched red. He clenched his fist, the pain worth not seeing the outline of that terrible symbol.

“Are you all right?” Nicole asked. “I'm sorry, it never did anything like that before. It felt warm to Oliver and I, but it didn't hurt us. What happened? Are you okay?”

“I don't know what that was,” Jackson said. “Oh, fuck, my head. Ah!”

Jackson turned his face against the wall, clutching his head. Nicole helped him to the living room and lay him down on the sofa. When she felt his face, it was burning. She helped him strip to his boxers and tee, then put a cold damp washcloth on his forehead. Oliver fetched a glass of water and aspirin and handed them to Nicole.

“Darlin', have you seen my Bible?” Jackson asked.

“I brought it to the hospital for you, remember? Didn't you bring it when you left?”

“I thought I did, but I don't have it.”

Nicole refrained from comment. The Bible had been a gift to Jackson from his mother upon his reaching adulthood. It was usually on his person, and he never slept without it on his nightstand or under his pillow. He had never misplaced it before. If it was gone, it had been taken, despite being a religious artifact representing decades of love and faith. Nicole felt a twinge of hopelessness. _God has no power here,_ she thought.

“Could you get me my cross?”

Jackson often carried a chain with a cross, though he rarely wore it. Nicole kissed his forehead and went to get it for him. When she put it in his hand, he seemed to be able to focus again. He let out a long sigh, and shut his eyes. The fever cooled.

“We have to leave this town,” Jackson said. “Right now, Nicole. We have to get the fuck out of here. You wanted me to believe you? Fine, I believe you. I don't know if it's ghosts or the D—or the serpent himself, but something isn't right here. We have to go.”

“I can't just leave,” Nicole said. “The mine belongs to my family, too. It won't let me run away.”

“Besides, Wassen Hole is cut off,” Oliver said. “The roads out are all damaged, and no one at the private airfield will fly with a big storm coming in soon. You can't leave.”

“Then we'll stay here until the storm's over,” Jackson said. “We'll just weather it out right here, together, Nicole. Okay? After that, we'll go home. We can have the project canceled from there, or whatever. We just need to ride the storm out, then we'll leave.”

Jackson sat up, coherent again. He got out his phone and began to tap on its screen. Nicole sat on the sofa beside him, her head on his shoulder. Oliver shifted on his feet awkwardly, then left.

“Don't you dare leave now, you hear?” Jackson called after him. “I don't want my wife having anything else to worry about.”

Oliver's footsteps on the staircase let them know he was staying. Nicole smiled.

“Thanks for understanding.”

“I'm not sure I do understand, but I know you're worried about him,” Jackson said. “The kid was right about the storm and the roads. We're not getting out of Wassen Hole for at least a week. But it's okay. It's gonna be fine, darlin'. I'm going to go into town, get some supplies.”

Jackson tried to stand but fell dizzily back onto the sofa. He rubbed his head, held the cross to his temple. Nicole rubbed his back.

“I can go get supplies for the storm,” she offered. “No, it's fine, I've been okay. I'm from this town. That means something, I don't know. I think I'm protected on some level.”

“Do you want that kind of protection?”

The harshness in Jackson's voice made her wince. He shook his head to clear it.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to snap,” he said. “It's just that I don't—I don't like you having that piece of gold. Whatever your family did in the past, you're good, Nicole. You are such a good, kind, beautiful woman. I know God will take you in and forgive you for your family's sins. You can be saved from whatever this … this darkness is here in this town, in your blood. So don't rely on your family legacy, all right? Please, I don't want you to get too involved with that history. I don't think it would be safe.”

Nicole bowed her head, staring at her hands. She felt tainted. Jackson went to kiss her, but she turned her face. _I always knew I wasn't good enough for him,_ she thought. _He's trying to deny it, but he senses it, I can tell. I brought him here to this damned place. My mine, my family's mine, my hometown, my blood … it's damned. And now he's suffering for it. His very_ soul _might be in danger, because of me. Who am I? Who am I to be with someone like him? I always wondered that, and now … all I can think is that … I'm worse than unworthy of him, I might be his doom._

“Honey, what's wrong?” Jackson asked. “I know you must be scared, but I'll protect you. You know I will, right? That I'll keep you safe?”

Nicole kept her back to him.

“Yeah. I know.”

She wiped the corners of her eyes and turned to him. She managed a smile. Jackson stood up and embraced her. She felt guilty, but did not fight against his kiss. She felt his light seeping into her, and she clung to it, let it fill her. Jackson had always driven away her inner chill, as sunny Texas had driven away all her memories of these cold mountains. Jackson had to be right, they had to be able to escape, if they could only weather this one last storm …

If they could escape this storm, Nicole swore that she would never be cold again. She would cling to Jackson and his light and the warmth of sunny places. She would chase all the shadows of the past away.

She would never be cold again.

* * *

Nicole took Oliver with her into town. They were both very quiet during the drive. The town was even more silent. The roads around the bank were closed off, but no one was attempting to repair the damage. No cars were parked on the main roads, and the schools were closed. It looked like a ghost town.

Oliver stayed in the car while Nicole went into the few shops still open to buy candles, lighters, gasoline, canned food, and more supplies to wait out the storm. The snow was beginning to fall. Oliver traced the complex, interweaving patterns of the melting flakes on the car window with his finger.

“Too late.”

The voice scratched Oliver's eardrums. He whipped around in his seat. At first, he thought Nicole had returned, then he realized the figure was much smaller. A little girl with hair, eyes, and lips as black as coal sat in the driver's seat. Her tiny white hands were folded primly on her lap. She wore a gray floral-print dress and a white pinafore, all dusted with smears of smoky grime. Her face reminded Oliver of a porcelain doll.

“You're Coalette,” Oliver said. “Nicole's predecessor. The sacrifice her family made in 1817.”

“Too late.”

“Please stop this,” Oliver begged. “People are hurting, kids are hurting. It's not right. My mother and sister were killed. My father, too. It's not good. Please, stop.”

“I want to.”

Oliver bit his bottom lip. The dead girl's voice was faraway, but he could hear its sorrow clearly.

“But I can't,” Coalette said. “You can't. It is done.”

Oliver looked out the window again. The clouds in the sky had turned iron gray. The snowflakes were gray. Was it even snow anymore?

When Oliver turned back to the driver's seat, it was empty. He drew his legs up onto the seat and hugged his knees to his chest. Nicole returned soon. She gave him a concerned frown but said nothing. She packed the shopping bags into the back seats, started the car, and pulled away from the curb. Oliver wondered whether she noticed how much the snow looked like ash.

* * *

The ground rumbled beneath Nicole's childhood home, and the lights flickered. Jackson sat on the sofa with his arm around Nicole. Nicole had one arm around him, and the other around Oliver. Jackson was not fond of Oliver, but he loved how beautiful Nicole looked mothering the boy. Perhaps they should adopt him, Jackson thought. The kid had nowhere to go, and Nicole might want to give Jackson a child of their own if she warmed to the idea of extending their family.

“This is wrong,” Oliver said. “We should be doing something.”

Then again, Oliver was a particularly morbid child. Jackson turned up the volume of the movie they were watching. Oliver refused to take the hint.

“We need to get the other three pieces of gold, the Arteries,” he said. “Mayor Graves must have one. He's the most important man in town, he'll know about it all. It's the best place to start.”

“We are not driving out in a blizzard to bother the mayor about this ghost fable,” Jackson said irritably. “Even if you are right about everything, I don't think Graves is just going to hand over this 'Artery'. All we can do is wait for this storm to be over.”

“I know ways someone like you can keep yourself protected from the cult, and Graves,” Oliver said. “Besides, he won't dare hurt you, you're the one keeping the mine open. Blackmail him. Or maybe we can steal the piece back.”

“This isn't a damn movie, kid,” Jackson scolded. “And it's not even my business. My business here is done, and so is my wife's. You can stay after we're gone, if you want, but you're only going to get yourself into trouble.”

“The curse will follow you, if you can even leave,” Oliver insisted. “What kind of Christian are you, anyway? Shouldn't you want to fight the good fight?”

Jackson's head began to burn. He rubbed his temple, but the hot, buzzing headache did not ease. Nicole eased up from him, giving him a strange look. Was that fear in her eyes? He cursed Oliver for bringing out his temper. His greatest experience with children was meeting suffering little ones during charity rounds. He hoped that it was only Oliver affecting him this way, he hated thinking he was bad with children. His father had been quite strict, but he was never unfair or unkind.

“The world doesn't work that way, boy,” Jackson told him. “There are no heroes that go around battling the forces of evil. I'll admit, something sinister is going on here, but it's not something I understand, or something I can do anything about. Now, I don't want to hear another word about it. Is that clear?”

The ground shook again, leaving the house creaking. The streaming movie cut off abruptly. Jackson swore and went to the TV. He mumbled something about finding a DVD instead. Nicole murmured something to Oliver, but he shook his head.

“Things are only going to get worse,” Oliver said bluntly. “More people are going to die.”

Jackson's head was bursting with pain. His vision blurred, leaving him unable to read the DVD covers. Why was it so hard to focus? He reached into his pocket for his cross, but it must have fallen out. Oliver climbed off the sofa, ignoring Nicole's attempt to pull him back.

“It was your company that reopened the mine,” Oliver told Jackson. “My father, mother, and sister would still be alive if you had never come here.”

The accusation horrified Jackson—and enraged him. He stood and stared the boy down. Oliver held his face up to him stubbornly. Nicole lingered by the sofa, uncertain of what to do. The ground shook and the lights flickered, almost going out this time.

“That's a stupid thing to say,” Jackson said bitterly. “What the hell is wrong with you? How can you talk about that like it's nothing? I'm sorry about what happened with your family, but it had nothing to do with that mine, or me.”

“It had everything to do with the mine, and you,” Oliver said. “You reopened Devil's Vein and let the spirits of those children out. They're the ones that made my father do what he did. You might as well have killed my family yourself.”

“And how do you know that _you_ didn't cause it?” Jackson asked. He tapped Oliver's chest hard enough to push him back a step. “You're the one that ran away. The night of our car accident, your mother drove out to the mayor's mansion, did you know that?”

Oliver's eyes widened.

“Yeah, she was there, desperate to find you, desperate to have that mine searched,” Jackson said. “I told her that I would do it, but by the next day, I was almost dead in a hospital bed. You say your father went to the mine and got possessed, right? Well, if he did, it was to look for _you_. So who's fault is it?”

Oliver blinked, his throat working to swallow the lump in it. His mature composure cracked and tears welled in his eyes. However, he was not ready to give in just yet.

“I know it's my fault. I know that!” he shouted. “But if anyone else dies, it's gonna be _your_ fault this time! I'm trying to tell you how to stop it and you're not listening to me!”

“We'll figure it all out once the storm ends, Oliver,” Jackson said. “Until then, I don't want to hear about it. Sit back down or go to your room. Just—Just leave me alone, all right?”

“I can't!” Oliver exclaimed. “How can I? Hasn't enough happened? What has to happen for you to do something? Miss Nicole is in danger, too, don't you get that? Are you going to let her die, too?”

“Don't say things like that!” Jackson growled. “I'm warning you, boy.”

“That's enough,” Nicole tried to diffuse the situation. “Both of you, stop it. This isn't doing any good. We can all talk tomorrow.”

“I'm not talking about it tomorrow or any day while we're stuck here,” Jackson said. “I don't want to hear about ghosts or the D—Devil or curses! I don't want to hear it!”

“You're a coward!” Oliver yelled at him. “You're scared! You're so scared of evil that you can't even admit it's real! You're a coward and they're going to use you and more innocent people are going to die because of you! You—”

Jackson's head was aching so hotly that he did not know where the sound came from at first. Then he felt a sting on his palm, and saw Oliver clutching his cheek. Nicole was shouting at him. Jackson was dazed, he felt that his body was moving without his permission. He had the boy by his thin shoulders and was shaking him hard. Nicole was hitting his arm, screaming at him to leave the kid alone.

An earthquake tore through the house, throwing them all off their feet. Nicole crashed into a chair and lay motionless. Oliver flew into the TV, bringing the flat screen tumbling down to the floor. Jackson hit the sofa, head striking its wooden frame.

When he lifted his head, Jackson saw his cross on the cushion. The headache ebbed as the ground-shaking did. Jackson stood, clutching the cross in his hand. He flew to Nicole and knelt down beside her. She was disoriented, but pushed him off. She went over to Oliver and helped him sit up. The boy's face was expressionless, Jackson's handprint red on one cheek. Nicole glared at Jackson with a hatred he had never known she was capable of.

“Nicole, I—I don't know why I … ” Jackson trailed off. “I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry.”

“Just stay away from him,” Nicole seethed. “Come on, Oliver.”

Nicole helped Oliver to his feet, her arms around him protectively. Jackson could not believe he had been jealous of her affection for a confused, orphaned child. _I hit him? How could I do something like that? He's just coping with his family's tragedy in his own way, and there are strange things happening in this town. Why was I so horrible to him? I felt like I hated him. I don't hate him. I barely even know him. What the hell is wrong with me?_

“No, don't go,” Jackson said hoarsely. “Nicole, don't go hiding away in your own house. I'll go.”

Nicole opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. She clutched Oliver more tightly, one hand stroking his reddened cheek. When she looked away without telling him to stay, Jackson's heart tightened. He put the cross around his neck, then fetched his shoes, wallet, and keys. It wasn't until he was at the front door in his coat that Nicole spoke to him.

“You don't have to leave,” she said. “Oliver said it wasn't your fault, that it's the storm. I don't know about that, but you don't have to go. We'll talk, just the two of us. We'll figure it out.”

“No, I think I should go for a while,” Jackson said. “Oliver is right, someone should do something about the mine. I'm going to talk to Mayor Graves. Not about that gold and ghosts or any of that. I just think we should plan to step back from operations while we look into whether anyone is sabotaging the project. That's still the most reasonable explanation.”

“Do you think it's safe?” Nicole asked. “They are very desperate to keep the mine open.”

“I can handle myself.”

Jackson stared down at his palm, still warm from striking the kid. He clenched it into a fist, then relaxed. He went over to Nicole and kissed her deeply. She resisted for a moment, then allowed it.

“I'll be fine, Nicole,” Jackson said. “Take care of that poor boy. Tell him I'm sorry.”

“I hear you.”

Oliver had appeared in the living room doorway. He clung to the wooden entryway frame with both arms. Jackson could not look him in the eyes.

“I'll settle this business with the mine,” Jackson reassured them both. “Then we'll leave this godforsaken town—no offense, Nicole.”

“It's nothing more than the truth, Jack,” Nicole said. “Are you sure you want to go out now? It's getting late. At least wait until tomorrow morning.”

“No, the storm will only get worse overnight.”

“You could get caught in it.”

“Then I'll stay in town. Don't worry, Nicole,” Jackson said, though he was grateful for her concern. “I'll be fine. Better to get all this business with Devil's Vein over with as soon as possible. You two settle in here and stay in. Be safe.”

“You, too, Jack.”

Jackson gave her one last smile and left. Nicole locked the door after him against the strong, cold wind. She watched through the living room window as Jackson got into his car, and drove away. She collapsed on the sofa, holding her head in her hands.

 _I was afraid of him,_ she thought. _I've never been afraid of him, but I thought he might go the way Bobby did. I can't believe it. I can't believe he would strike a child. He's never been very fond of Oliver, but to hit him, after all he's been through especially …_

Oliver sat down beside her. She took his hand in her own. He still did not like being touched much, but he had stopped fighting her affection.

“It wasn't him,” Oliver said. “Something is wrong with him, like it was with my father. But it's not the dead kids this time, they wouldn't make him hurt me. It's something else.”

“He's been strange since he left the hospital,” Nicole admitted. “Maybe it's head trauma, or—I don't know. I don't know anything anymore.”

Nicole covered her eyes with her hands, but the tears spilled between her fingers. She covered her face with her hands. Oliver put a hand on her shoulder. It was then that the lights went out and did not flicker back on.


	10. Chapter 10

The basement of the mayor's mansion was far larger and older than the house above. The pit had been dug before Europeans ever set foot on the continent, by a tribe of natives that were despised by all the surrounding tribes. Many rituals had been practiced in the pit, dedicated to the persona that represented the Evil One to them. When a European cult from the East Coast came to East Dakota, the tribe bonded with them. Instead of appreciating the rare peace between the cultures, the other tribes decided they had had enough of the wayward tribe. They banded together and slaughtered the tribe in the dead of night, burned their village, and filled in the pit as best they could. In retaliation, the white friends of the tribe quickly murdered and drove out the remaining tribes in the area. Thousands of lives were lost in the cult-driven violence.

Years later, four prominent Satan-worshipers from Massachusetts fell under suspicion in their hometown. Knowing the history of East Dakota, they fled there. These four men and their families opened the Devil's Vein mine, and founded Wassen Hole. The McGraedy (the “McGreedy” family, according to those that knew them) owned the largest stake in Devil's Vein, and spearheaded the project. They also uncovered the old tribe's pit of worship, and built their mansion upon it, the building later becoming the mayoral home when McGraedy was named Wassen Hole's mayor. The Graves family, ironically having a reputation for grave-robbing back on the East Coast, held the least stake in the mine. The other two middle families were named Lee and Caulfield.

The eldest descendants of three of the four families were sitting around a massive stone table in the mayoral mansion's deep basement, chanting in Latin. The table had dark stains in its center, and ancient symbols were carved around its perimeter. Torches burned deep scarlet around the chamber in a circle, and more lit the way down the twisting stone halls back to the stairs. They flickered when the earth trembled and loosed dirt down onto them. The three robed figures stopped chanting.

“We should have brought the Caulfield girl here,” trilled old Josiah Lee. “We cannot be protected without the last Artery and its rightful heir.”

Josiah Lee's ancestor had sacrificed his two daughters to Devil's Vein. He had only had the one son, and his daughters were inseparable, so he had sent them both in. The eldest daughter had been a robust youth who led the other child miners, Ashley Lee, known locally as Ash Lee. The younger girl's name was lost to history, as she had been a frail child of little value to her family.

“Nicole Caulfield is Nicole Wallace now,” Moira Graves said. “She left this town long before we could introduce her to her history. Now, she's seen Wassen Hole at its worst, and she blames Devil's Vein. Do you really think she'll feel any better if we tell her the curse is real and only Satan can protect her from it?”

“She'll have her husband close the mine and fly back to Texas,” Harvey Graves said. “She might be planning to do that, anyway. And who can blame the woman? This has gotten far out of hand.”

“We could sacrifice her, then,” Josiah warbled. “How would her husband ever know it was us? The town is falling apart, we could make it seem an accident.”

“A sacrifice to whom?” Moira asked bitterly. “Lou Sapphire won't interfere. He's using this chaos to some end of his own, I know he is.”

The earth shook so hard everyone's teeth rattled inside their skulls. One of the torches in the hall went out. Old Josiah Lee mopped sweat off his long, worn face with a handkerchief.

“Do not speak ill of our Master,” Harvey begged his wife.

“Your Master is the ill-tempered child of a false God,” Josiah scowled. “My mother's side was better off worshiping the Elder Gods. We should take the Arteries, take the Caulfield woman, and make a sacrifice to those gods that would actually do us some good. Then we wouldn't need Devil's Vein, this Lou Sapphire brat, or any of it.”

“Please stop speaking that way about him,” Harvey said.

“I will not!”

Josiah pounded a surprisingly strong, thick-veined hand on the stone table. He got to his feet, tall figure throwing a long shadow over the old stone.

“Neither of you had even been born the last time Lou Sapphire did anything good by this town,” Josiah said. “But _I was_. I was already a year old when Lou Sapphire was born into this town in 1933. My own parents helped birth him in a ritual that consumed the lives of thirteen innocent people, including the woman that carried him through nine months of agony. I was raised alongside that boy while I was taught to worship him. I obeyed him, though death and destruction followed his every year from infancy to manhood. I should have done something then, but I obeyed. I even obeyed when he opened his grand church in the center of town, flaunting his supremacy not only to the town, but to the world. I knew he was arrogant, reckless, but he was an incarnation of Lucifer, and so I believed—we all believed—that he could never be brought down. He lied, and we believed his lies.”

Josiah sank back down onto the stone bench surrounding the table. His strength had faded, and he was left looking like a tired old man again. He exhaled a whistling, rattling sigh.

“We had a grand time, sure,” Josiah said. “We were invincible, or so we thought. But Lou Sapphire was over-confident. The same spiteful hatred against his Father that gives him strength is always going to be his ultimate undoing. Instead of ruling from the shadows, he declared Wassen Hole for himself and his followers. When that traveling commune came through, what did he do? He could have simply kept them out of the church and ignored them until they moved on. But what did he do?”

Josiah's eyes burned fiercely as he looked at Moira and Harvey. They said nothing. They had grown up being told the story of 1966. They knew what happened next.

“He antagonized them!” Josiah exclaimed. “The fool thought that he was invincible, that he could simply pick those poor kids off in front of their eyes, get them to sell their souls. Even when he became aware that they had some sort of white magic, that his Father was using them to bring him down, Lou kept on warring with them. Both sides lost almost everything, until they finally burned him alive on one of his own crosses at the church. The only reason this incarnation called 'Lou Sapphire' is still around is that his last two followers died resurrecting him on Christmas that year, that minister and nun. And do not kid yourselves about who it was that blasted their church for it with lightning. Lou has never quite regained his hold on this town, his Father won't let him, and we're all caught in the middle of this inane biblical feud!”

“We are all well aware of Wassen Hole's history,” Harvey grumbled. “What is your point, Josiah?”

“That we are not gods, demons, or anything else,” Josiah said sternly. “We are men and women, we are flesh-born, weak, a race that was born of a whimsical joke. Lou Sapphire's Father, that false God, may have taken the credit and He may give humans a nice little fairy tale to believe they're more than what they are, but it's all lies. That's where Lou gets it from, you know. And the Elder Gods, and the One That Must Not Be Named, and all the great deities that wallow in Chaos, care not one wit about humanity. So why should we care about any of them?”

“What are you saying?” Harvey asked. “We should bury our heads in the sand like those delusional atheists? What would be the point of that?”

“We would lose everything,” Moira said. “You know damn well that power either comes from pure luck, skill, or from those very gods, demons, and the rest. Should we just entrust ourselves to fate, in this apathetic universe?”

“That is not what I'm saying at all,” Josiah said. “I am saying that we must use them as they use us. They are not loyal to us, so we should not be loyal to them. Lou Sapphire's arrogance ruined this town, and we all know it. And what has he done about it? Encouraged us to reopen that damned mine and bring this curse down upon us! A curse founded on sacrifices made to _him_ , no less! It is an outrage!”

Even Harvey could not defend Lou Sapphire against that charge.

“I say, no more!” Josiah said. “We should abandon Lou Sapphire as he has abandoned Wassen Hole. My family has great knowledge of the Elder Gods, many ancient texts that could be of great benefit to us. Lou Sapphire is a mewling babe compared to them. He knows he cannot fight against their powers. If we gain their protection, he could not touch us, and they could benefit Wassen Hole.”

“They are even more dangerous than Mr. Sapphire,” Harvey pointed out. “Their very apathy makes them so. Lou Sapphire is like his Father in the sense that they both live off of human worship. They both may even have _been_ human before gaining their powers and claiming godhood, if you believe certain ancient texts. Humans are necessary to them both, that is why they reward us for our worship.”

“And Lou is the more generous of the two,” Moira added. “The God of men, whatever name you call him by, is a stingy judgmental bastard.”

“Lou's generosity is only due to the fact that he's the most desperate deity of men, and the youngest. Hardly anyone even worships him as a deity, he is still more known as a mere fallen angel,” sneered Josiah. “To hell with him! I've lived for eighty-five years in perfect health, and not thanks to his rewards! I almost died in '66 myself, and I lost a child in that unholy war when the school was caught in the cross-hairs. I've never forgiven Lou Sapphire for that, and I never will. Now my adult children and my grandchildren are in danger because of this mess. This is the final straw. You two can go along to your own damnation with Sapphire, but I've had it!”

Josiah got to his feet, and so did Harvey. He blocked the older man's way. Though Josiah was taller, he was spindly. His mouth turned into a deep, grave line.

“We will not give you our families' gold!” Harvey said. “And we will protect Nicole Caulfield-Wallace. She is one of us.”

“Fine, and damn you!” Josiah roared. “Stay trembling here in this stone pit while your precious Master lets Wassen Hole shake itself to death! And good riddance!”

Josiah stormed around Harvey before he could block him again. The room shook hard again. Harvey and Moira sat back down at the table. They could not bring themselves to resume their chanting.

* * *

Josiah stormed through the shaking stone basement until he reached the long stone staircase. He climbed them quickly with his long legs, which were still untouched by arthritis. Upstairs he made his way through the mansion, cursing under his breath all the way. In the hallway, he was just struggling out of his robe when the front doors blew open. He let the robe fall back over his clothes, alarmed. A handsome young man stared at him with wide dark blue eyes, taking in the robe and the symbol on its breast. The doors blew shut behind him and he jumped. Josiah took a step towards him, and the young man stepped back. He reached into his shirt and brought forth a gold cross on a chain.

“Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in—”

“Oh, stop that, I no longer serve the Devil,” Josiah scoffed. He struggled out of the robe and threw it to the floor. “You're Jackson Wallace, aren't you? The man who owns Entry Energy? The man that has recently cut back into Devil's Vein?”

Jackson stared at the old man in shock. It was one thing to hear about the superstitions from Nicole and Oliver, who had been raised on it. It was quite another to hear an elderly man being so matter-of-fact about these things. _It's true, then?_ Jackson marveled. _It's all true? How can it be? How could God allow the Devil to have such power in His realm? What kind of world is this?_

“You need to leave this place now, if you want to keep yourself and your wife safe,” Josiah said. “You have no idea what Harvey and Moira Graves are capable of.”

“I don't know you, either,” Jackson said. “Where are they? I need to talk to them.”

“They are off worshiping their miniature Satan, for what it's worth,” Josiah said. “Come with me, young man. I believe our interests are the same.”

“What interests?”

“Ending this, of course.”

“And what the hell _is_ 'this'?!” Jackson exploded. “What in God's name is going on?!”

“Nothing in His name is going on here,” Josiah said. “Come with me. I will explain everything, and then we'll see what we can do. Please. Look at me, I'm just an old man, and you're a strapping young buck. You aren't afraid of me, are you?”

Jackson said nothing. He looked around the foyer, still holding the cross between his fingers. He did not step back when Josiah came up to him, though his eyes were wary.

“Here, now, let me touch that,” Josiah said, nodding at the cross. “If I'm a Devil-worshiper, I'll burn up or be stricken down, won't I? Or do you not have that much faith in God?”

Jackson held the cross out to him. Josiah put his hand around it. To his surprise, it felt very warm. He frowned deeply.

“Mr. Wallace—may I call you 'Jackson'?”

Jackson nodded. He was less cautious now that touching the cross had done nothing to the old man. Josiah refrained from telling him that crosses could only hurt Satanists when wielded by those with some knowledge of real magic.

“Jackson, I believe you are in great danger,” Josiah said. “Let us leave this place. Please.”

“All right, er?”

“Josiah, Josiah Lee. Pleased to meet you personally at last, Jackson.”

They left the mansion together. The blizzard was very thick now, and they had to squint against the howling wind. They got into Jackson's car, Jackson on the driver's side.

“Where is your lovely wife, if I may ask?”

“At home,” Jackson said shortly. “What is all this about? What is going on in this town, Mr. Lee?”

“Please, call me 'Josiah',” the old man said. “Let's get away from this house first. Would you be so kind as to drive me home?”

Jackson nodded and Josiah gave him the address. Jackson had to drive slowly due to the weather. The car's bright white headlights barely cut through the snowy darkness.

“First, tell me what you know,” Josiah said. “Your wife must have said something about all this by now.”

Jackson recounted everything that Nicole had told him about the cursed mine. Josiah nodded grimly. He wondered how Nicole, who had left town so young, had figured so much out already. She even knew about the Arteries and the Satanic cult. _This town is even more vulnerable than I expected,_ Josiah thought. _This is no time to put faith in Lou Sapphire._

“So, she thinks that taking the Arteries back to Devil's Vein will end it, does she?” Josiah mused.

“It wasn't her, it was that boy, Oliver Harris.”

“I thought he was missing?”

“He turned up at Nicole's house,” Jackson explained. “He's the one that did all the research, and he says the ghosts of the dead children speak to him.”

“I see.”

“It's crazy, isn't it?”

Josiah heard the hope in the young man's voice, but he shook his head. Jackson was crestfallen.

“It's all true, every word.”

“This has to be a joke.”

“It's no joke,” Josiah said. “I've lost too many people for it to be a joke. I only wish it were. No, Wassen Hole was founded on blood and greed and evil, and its darkness persists. That's why I intend to end it.”

“How are you going to do that?”

 _Any way that I can,_ Josiah thought. _Any way that I can._

They pulled into the driveway outside Josiah's home, and he invited Jackson inside. Having nowhere else to go, Jackson followed him out of the car. They hunched against the wind until they were sheltered on the screened-in porch. Josiah hadn't even touched the doorknob when the door flew open. A woman, most likely an adult daughter, took him by the wrists. She did not even notice Jackson.

“Dad, they're gone!” she said frantically. “We were getting supplies from the basement and when we came back, they were just gone! How could they go out in this? They could freeze to death! We couldn't even find any footprints, nothing!”

“Calm down, my dear, calm down,” Josiah said. “Here, let's go inside.”

He ushered the woman into the house. She would go no further than the front hall.

“The kids!” she wailed. “The kids are gone! Morris went after them, but he hasn't come back yet! Where could they have gone? Why would they go out in this storm?”

Josiah paled. He excused himself and took his daughter into another room. Jackson sat at the bottom of the stairs, rubbing his head. He felt lost without Nicole at his side. All he wanted was to go home and try to earn her forgiveness. Perhaps he should let this supernatural mess sort itself out and concentrate on Nicole. If only Oliver weren't there. He did not trust himself around that boy.

Josiah returned looking older and more severe than ever. Jackson got to his feet. Over his shoulder, Jackson could see his daughter sobbing in the den.

“The children have gone missing,” Josiah said. “Before the phones cut off, my daughter got calls from other parents. Any child that wasn't caught and locked in their room has gone out into the storm, and I know where they've gone.”

“You don't think?”

“Yes, I do. They've gone to the mine.”

Josiah fetched a heavier coat and boots from the hallway closet. He also removed a large black duffle bag.

“I'm going out there,” Josiah said. “And you're coming with me.”

“I don't see what good that could—”

“I'm sorry, but I have my reasons.”

Josiah put his arms through the sleeves of his coat and shouldered the bag. He straightened, and one hand came forward, aiming a pistol directly at Jackson's heart. Jackson stared at the old man in shock.

“And you don't have a choice,” Josiah said. “That cross of yours is burning hot, which means it's fighting against something. It's that bastard Lou Sapphire, his darkness has infected you. Like it or not, you're a pawn on this chessboard. And I'll need as many pieces as I can take if I'm going to free myself and mine from this town and Lou Sapphire. Now let's go.”

Jackson's head was spinning. Fury at his lack of knowledge made him curse his skepticism. He was not a man used to being out of the know, let alone helplessly so. He considered rushing the old man and taking the gun. What did he have to lose, anyway? He had betrayed himself, betrayed Nicole, and if what they said about Devil's Vein was true, he had brought a deadly curse down upon the town. Oliver had been right: if he had never brought his company down here to mine in Devil's Vein, the Harris family and the other victims would still be alive.

The guilt deflated Jackson's anger. His shoulders slumped and he carefully moved forward. He let Josiah lead him back to his car. Josiah held the gun on Jackson while Jackson got into the driver's seat. Even as he circled the car, the old man kept the gun trained on him through the windshield. His hand was steady and his eyes were keen. Despite his youth and strength, Jackson doubted he could escape a bullet if he went against this man.

So, they set off into the storm, towards Devil's Vein.

* * *

Back at the mayoral mansion, Harvey and Moira had given up their chants and supplications. They sat in silence at the stone table in the basement. Moira was steaming, and Harvey was depressed. The tremors were more frequent, and getting stronger.

“This is ridiculous!” Moira burst out. “We'll be buried down here at this rate. Let's go upstairs and find a table to hide under. It's obvious that he isn't coming.”

“Why should I be coming when you should be going?”

Harvey and Moira jumped, startled. Lou Sapphire stood at the head of the table, his black and red eyes boring holes into them. Harvey's faith began to waver when he looked at their Master. Despite the fear and chaos wrecking havoc on his followers, Lou was completely placid. His long red tail swished back and forth languidly, like a cat's. There was even a smile curling his lusty lips.

Despite Harvey and Moira's doubts, they bowed their heads over the table and murmured worshipful prayers to him.

“Oh, don't bother!”

Lou used his tail to pull Moira's head back by the hair, and his hand to do likewise to Harvey. The humor did not leave his face, but it hardened.

“Do you think I didn't hear your words to that traitor Josiah?” Lou hissed at them. “Ungrateful fools!”

“We would never abandon you, Master!” Harvey shouted. “Never! We stayed here, on your unhallowed ground, for you! We would never betray you for the Elder Gods!”

Lou pulled their heads back further, until their necks felt on the verge of snapping. There was breathless silence. Lou looked between them, wondering whether to kill his two worshipers. Finally, he released them. As he drew his tail back behind himself, it snapped painfully across Moira's arm and Harvey's shoulder. The slashes were light, but they tore through their robes, burning their skin.

“I would never take loyalty for granted,” Lou lied, looking into the ruby ring on his finger. “I simply wonder whether you two _are_ still loyal to me? Or has Josiah Lee sown the seeds of doubt in your breasts?”

“Not at all, Master!” Harvey said. “Our families have served you in all your incarnations, for hundreds of years! We would never betray you!”

“Then I suppose you would be willing to prove it?”

Moira and Harvey shared a nervous glance.

“Of-of course, Master.”

“Good!” Lou said brightly. “Then, you'll have no problem going out to Devil's Vein tonight.”

“What? Why?”

“Tonight? In this storm?”

Lou raised his eyes from his ring. His tail snapped like a whip behind him. The two flinched.

“Of course, Master,” Harvey relented. “Of course. But what would you like us to do at the mine? I thought that these events did not concern you?”

“Do you question me, Harvey?”

“Of course not.”

Lou looked at Harvey and Moira sharply. Josiah blamed him for the town's bad fortune, but Lou blamed the quality of his followers. How could Wassen Hole rebound when the only worshipers he had left were indolent fools? Perhaps he should simply give up on this town and this incarnation, but losing an incarnation was worse than losing a limb for the being that comprised all of his forms. It had been bad enough being burnt to a crisp that time. Lou scowled at the memory, and damned Josiah for having reminded him of it earlier.

“Josiah Lee and Jackson Wallace are heading to Devil's Vein,” Lou said. “Doubtless that old fool will try to bring the Elder Gods into this thing. You know how I feel about outsiders, deities or not.”

Lou's eye twitched at the mention of the Elder Gods. Though he was an incarnate of Lucifer, he was still bound to a body that was partly flesh-and-blood. He acted much like a man sometimes, though he tried to curtail these embarrassing traits. He could never help a nervous tick when he mentioned the Elder Gods, however. Harvey suspected that he harbored a very deep fear of those strange beings. Josiah sometimes hinted of a meeting between one of the agents of Chaos and Lou that had not ended well for the fallen angel, but even he never dared tell the full story. Harvey did not like the idea of his Master being fallible.

“Do you mean for us to stop Josiah?” Moira asked. “Just the two of us? At least let us summon the rest of the group.”

“No, I'd rather this remained as private an affair as possible,” Lou said. “Surely, the two of you can handle one washed-up old man? You do still have two of my Arteries, don't you?”

“Yes,” Harvey said. “Yes, my lord.”

“Then what exactly are you waiting for?” Lou asked, eye twitching again. “Go! Go, because if that old fool does bring his alien gods into this town, I won't be the only one to suffer for it.”

Lou had slipped by using the word, and he knew it. Infuriated by the admission of vulnerability, he snapped his tail at the two. They scrambled out of its path, running from the table.

Lou was left alone with the blazing torches. He gazed into the flames intently. He had been born of sacred fire, he had died by sacred fire, and he had been brought back by a sacrilegious flame. The circle of his life burned so hot that it had even scorched him a few times.

 _But I would rather burn a thousand times than see the coldness of the Void and its pantheon claim my town for their own,_ Lou thought. He crossed his arms, his skull-headed cane dangling from one hand. _My Father was born of human desire for their own protector, and He has taken these pitiful creatures under His wing, forsaking even His perfect first creations—myself included. But His wrath burns hot, as does mine. We are as passionate as the humans we use as fodder for our powers. Those Elder Gods are cold, uncaring, utterly alien. They were born from the Void, and they would throw humanity into it. Not only humanity, but humanity's gods and devils—myself included. That one, Chaos incarnate, told me as much. A horror story for a child, that is how he meant it, yet still it … concerns me. I'll be more than damned if he takes this town from me!_

The torches blazed high with Lou's fury. They burned so hotly that they went out momentarily. Lou looked around the darkness of the basement. He could have sworn he saw other eyes watching him laughingly. Though he often did as much to his own people, the idea that anyone would spy on him infuriated him.

“Void-blasted spawn of Azathoth,” he swore. “I have no fear of you.”

Nonetheless, Lou returned to his own realm without giving any watching beings the chance to respond. Only wafting smoke was left in his wake.

* * *

Nicole woke up in a cold sweat. The house was shaking so hard that she instantly climbed out of bed and looked around for the sturdiest table. Then she remembered Oliver. She flung on a robe and rushed into the hall, calling for him. There was no answer. How could he sleep through this? The tremors were so strong that she fell several times on her way to her old room.

Nicole flung open the bedroom door and rushed to the bed. She tossed the covers aside, but the bed was empty. She searched the room, calling him more loudly, but he was nowhere to be found. Nicole searched all of the upstairs, but Oliver was gone.

Cursing, Nicole dressed hurriedly in her room. She went downstairs, figuring the boy was in the bathroom or kitchen. She called for him as she staggered through the rocking house. A piece of ceiling nearly hit her head. To her dismay, Oliver was neither in the kitchen or the bathroom—she even went so far as to open the bathroom door and search the bathtub. The living room was empty, as was the smaller den. The house had no basement.

In the hallway, Nicole stopped with her hands on her hips, stumped. Then she saw that Oliver's coat, boots, and backpack were gone. She had not seen his extra clothing in her old bedroom, either, nor the flashlight he kept at his bedside. She went into the dining room, and surely enough, all the boy's research on Wassen Hole was gone. She realized where Oliver must have gone when she saw that the lock box containing the sulfuric gold 'Artery' was also missing.

“No,” Nicole whispered. “No, no, no! No, damn it, no!”

Nicole threw chairs to the floor, kicked the table. The house was still again, and quiet enough for her to hear the wind howling outside. She fell to the floor, holding her head in her hands. Why did everything keep drawing her back to Devil's Vein? How could Oliver have gone back there? How could he have gone outside in this blizzard at all?

Nicole got out her cellphone to call Jackson. There was no service. She almost threw it in frustration.

“Fine!” she screamed at the dark house. “You wanted me back here, here I am! Now what? What do you want? You want me to go back to the mine? All right! All right. I'll go. Damn you, I'll go, just let me see Jackson and Oliver again.”

As she said the words, Nicole was certain that she would never see either of them again. She plunged into coldness, a coldness unlike any she had ever known. Her body was entirely numb, and whatever tiny flicker she took for her soul was extinguished. She gazed dully around the house she had grown up avoiding as it shook. _I fought so hard to get out of here,_ she thought. _I fought so fucking hard to escape, and I did it. Unlike Bobby and Krystal, unlike almost everyone I grew up with, I got out. And then when I had everything, I came back. **I** came back. Oliver blamed Jackson, but it isn't his fault, it's mine. I was the one that suggested it._

Nicole's eyes widened and she gasped. Her knees gave out and she hit the floor on hand and knee. Her black hair fell over her face in a sooty curtain. Beneath her palms, she felt the ground trembling.

 _That's right, I was the one that suggested Devil's Vein might still be viable,_ she recalled. _Why would I do that? I don't even remember how it came up or why I suggested testing it. I never wanted to return here, so why did I suggest that? Why did I draw Jackson here? Why did I come here? Why can't I remember my reasons? What the fuck is wrong with me?_

Nicole tried to remember, but she couldn't. Not that it mattered, anyway. Nothing mattered, not her escape from Wassen Hole, not her future, not Entry Energy, none of it mattered anymore. She had let this town and the mine take everything away from her. She had only one more thing left to lose, and if she had to lose it at Devil's Vein, then she would.


	11. Chapter 11

Nicole drove out to Devil's Vein numbly. She could hardly see the road in front of her in the storm, but she felt that she could have driven the route blind. It pulled her like a magnet. No, the draw was stronger, more insidious than that: it called her with the imperious knowledge she would come, like the voice of fate.

_This was always going to happen._

The realization chilled Nicole. This destiny had hung around her neck even when she was driving away from town towards the bright future of college, when she had been employed by Entry Energy, and during every happy memory she had shared with Jackson. This was her sentence, and she had passed it on to Jackson, to Oliver, to Bobby and Krystal, and to everyone in this town. It was all on her. The mine loomed up before her like a bird of doom. Nicole sped towards it and parked beneath the slope leading up to its mouth.

Nicole was ready to die, but she had come prepared to fight. If there was still a chance that she could save Jackson or Oliver, she would take it. She zippered her parka, put on gloves, and got out a large, heavy flashlight. Then she checked her pocket and removed an old revolver. It belonged to Jackson, and he always kept it primed but unloaded. She had found the bullets and loaded all six chambers, bringing the rest of the ammo with her in another pocket. She doubted it would be much use against ghosts or the Devil, but Jackson believed there were human saboteurs, and Oliver hinted at cultists. She would face her destiny, but she would be damned if she went down without a fight against those who had caused so much pain.

Nicole pocketed the gun and took out her last item: Jackson's flask. She took a long, deep drink of whiskey. It burned her throat and filled her with courage. She got out of the car before the false bravery wore off.

The blizzard hit her instantly, stinging her face. She squinted against it and trudged through the snow. One of the excavation machines had been left out, and it had flipped over. The machine was covered in frost and snow, bleached into resembling a monstrous skeleton. The snow was dirtier as Nicole got closer to the mine, and smelled of coal.

Nicole's foot met something hard. She glanced down and caught sight of something bright. She knelt down and pushed snow away. A strangled cry escaped her, and sooty snowflakes flew into her mouth, choking her. She tried to move away but tripped, falling right onto what she had uncovered. Sobbing, she crawled away, but then her hand fell onto something hard and stiff. Groaning softly, she pushed snow aside. She yelled in anguish, and then saw more lumps surrounding her.

They were children, dead of exposure, their limbs frozen solid. There had to be at least ten, their mounds laid out in a perfect circle. Nicole shut her eyes tightly. Then she forced herself to check each child. Surely enough, they were all dead.

Nicole's tears froze on her face as she stood and walked, dead-eyed, to the mine.

“They were only put to sleep.”

Nicole looked down. Coalette walked beside her, unaffected by the storm. Nicole swallowed, and did her best not to react. She could not lose focus now, not for ghosts or delusions or whatever the girl was. For once, she was grateful for the stinging cold.

“They will not suffer this world anymore,” Coalette said. “No one will hurt them ever again. We saved them. They are at peace.”

Nicole was too tired to be angry at the girl. All five children had been sacrificed for a hoard of gold by their own parents. Nicole could almost see their logic. After all, the modern town had been insistent upon reopening the mine, not caring about the deaths of the children. If there was a cult, they had let the curse go this far, regardless of who died.

 _I'm no better,_ Nicole thought. _Entry Energy has written off environmental damage, poisoned water, and countless deaths as the cost of business. I always knew it, and I always accepted it. So did Jackson. We always worried more about good publicity than good practice. Even now, I wonder what alternative there is, and I can't answer that. Humans need warmth. We need energy. How could we ever give up the fire we stole from the gods so long ago? Suffering without energy, suffering to produce energy, suffering and suffering, world without end._

Nicole reached the mouth of the tunnel and hurried inside. The air was still cold, but she could breathe more easily without the relentless wind. She reached for her flashlight, then dropped her hand slowly. The lights strung along down the tunnel were all lit. Hope surged faintly within her at the sign of life.

“Oliver!” Nicole called into the depths. “Jackson!”

There was no reply. She started down the tunnel, but did not dare call out again. She imagined a cult of Satanists letting blood in the depths of the earth, and shuddered. She looked around for anyone, even Coalette, but the mine was silent as a tomb.

Nicole removed the parka's hood and unzippered the pocket holding the revolver. The air warmed the further she went in, but it still chilled her to the bone. She was shaking from the inside, and took another swig from the flask to still her nerves.

The whiskey had just started to calm her when a cry echoed through the tunnels. Her heart skipped a beat and she stopped in her tracks. Shouts followed, indistinguishably distorted. She ran towards them. She thought they belonged to men, and her first thought was of Jackson. The tunnel twisted, and the voices were becoming clearer. She stopped, removed her gloves, and then took out the revolver. She held it at her side and went forward cautiously.

Nicole came to a branch in the tunnels and listened. No sound came from either. She opened her mouth to call out, but instinct stayed her tongue. She chose the left-hand path and kept her footsteps as quiet as possible. Halfway down, she paused, listening again. She heard voices, but this time they were _behind_ her. Had someone come into the tunnels after her? She looked back and forth, wondering whether she should go back or keep moving forward. Was anyone she knew down here at all? Or was she trapped between ghosts and monsters?

Nicole drank from the flask again and went forward. The first voices resumed, very clear now. Nicole recognized Jackson's and she broke into a run, forgetting all caution.

The tunnel opened up into a chamber, and a tableau that stopped Nicole short. Candles were all that lit the chamber, and their flames burned green. A large symbol had been drawn in the center of the chamber in blood and soot. Jackson was in the center of the circle on his knees. He was holding a shoulder and his hand was soaked with blood. An old man that Nicole recognized from some meetings at the Town Hall held an ancient leather-bound book with one hand and had a pistol trained on Jackson with the other. Nicole gripped the revolver tightly, forcing her hand to stop trembling. There was nothing she could do about her racing heart. She used the rush of adrenaline-fueled blood to drive her forward.

“Jackson?”

Jackson turned his furious gaze from the old man to her. He paled, features twisted by pained terror. Nicole wanted to run to his side more than anything in this twisted world. The old man was reading from the book, and had neither seen nor heard her.

“Nicole? Nicole, run!”

“Jackson!”

The elder man whipped around. A grin spread across his face. Jackson moved to stand, but the old man instantly turned back and lifted the gun to his forehead. Nicole raised her revolver at the old man. He only laughed.

“How fortunate! You are the Caulfield heir, are you not?”

Jackson was shaking his head, but Nicole knew there was no denying it. She stepped forward, keeping the old man targeted. It was difficult to focus in the green candlelight, the shadows on the dirt walls writhing.

“Yes,” she said. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Josiah Lee, a fellow heir to this old place,” the man said. “As you can see, our old bloodlines have drawn quite the attention recently.”

Nicole's eyes darted around the chamber. There were two other tunnels leading out of it. Two children were standing in the mouth of one, their faces stony. One was a boy with an oddly misshapen torso and a cap had his hand intertwined with a blond little girl whose eyes glowed as yellow as the lamps behind her. In another aperture stood Coalette and a taller girl with short brown hair and large, staring orange eyes. The fury in those eyes could not possibly belong to any living child. She stood in front of Coalette protectively. Nicole had the feeling their hands were only stayed by whatever ritual Josiah Lee was conducting. The brown-haired girl's gaze did not leave him, and her hands twitched with repressed urges.

“Coalette,” Nicole murmured.

“Oh, so you've made your family ghost's acquaintance, have you?” Josiah said. He nodded at the brown-haired girl. “That one's mine, Miss Ash Lee, and another that has yet to reappear. The boy is Tommy, an honest to goodness Tommy Knocker, and he was sent down here by the Graves folk. His little lady love there is Canary, prophetic name, as it turned out; she was given by the McGraedy clan. We don't need to introduce ourselves to them, do we, little ones? No, our blood is all they care about.”

Josiah barked a laugh. Nicole had the feeling that he was not altogether sane.

“Was it you?” she asked him. “Did you bring those children outside the mine to die? More sacrifices to benefit our goddamned bloodlines?”

From the sorrow on Jackson's face, she could tell the two had come upon the recently dead kids. Josiah's eyes burned almost as furiously as Ash Lee's.

“No, I didn't bring them here!” he roared, waving the gun dangerously. “ _They_ did! They don't care whose blood they spill! My youngest granddaughter was there! More of my own kin lost to this cursed town! But no more! No! No, no, no more!”

Nicole thought about taking a shot at him, but he was moving around too wildly for her aim to be true. She knew she would only get the one shot, and then Josiah would kill Jackson. Josiah glanced down at the book on his arm but only briefly. He began to chant in a harsh, buzzing language that hurt Nicole's ears and made her head throb. The shadows between the green light warped, darkened, and it took all Nicole's will not to be drawn into watching them.

Wind began to whirl around the chamber. Ash Lee opened her mouth and emitted an inhuman scream. Nicole almost dropped the gun to cover her ears, and she saw Josiah wince. Blackness poured out of the girl's mouth, a darkness deeper than shadow. It pooled out onto the cavern wall, away from the green light, and crawled up into the shadows above them. Josiah lifted his head to look at the figure forming overhead, and Nicole's finger twitched on the trigger.

“ENOUGH!”

Nicole was shoved aside by a heavy hand, and her aim was ruined. She cursed and whipped around. Harvey and Moira Graves had burst into the chamber. They wore boots, gloves, and parkas over long ceremonial robes. Under other circumstances, their clownish appearance would have been laughable. Josiah forgot the black shadow above and swung the pistol around to aim it at them. He rotated his aim from them to Nicole to Jackson, eyes darting around frantically.

“We have been sent by our Master to end this,” Harvey said. “If you stop now, perhaps you can live. Take your family and run away from here now, Josiah. Let it go.”

“Oh, sure, you can let it go easily enough,” Josiah sneered. “You drivel on and on about your devotion to your precious Master and your precious town, but how many of your children live here? You hypocrites send your children off to boarding school out of the country the moment they're out of diapers! Your children aren't the ones lying frozen dead out there, so don't you dare tell me to let anything go!”

“We've all lost someone or something, Josiah,” Moira said. “All worship is based on sacrifice, you know that better than anyone! You've already lost enough. If you start this war, you'll lose even more. Can you really bear that at your age?”

“This will protect them,” Josiah said, lifting the book. “This will protect all who are wise enough to go against your bumbling Master!”

Josiah resumed chanting. Harvey and Moira moved forward. Nicole saw them each lift one of the gold nuggets Oliver had called the 'Arteries' of Devil's Vein. Josiah stepped back, dropping the book and chanting from memory. With his free hand, he took out his family's own piece of gold. The Leviathan Crosses on each of the three pieces glowed vibrantly, but Josiah's began to take on a greenish tinge. Moira and Harvey chanted louder.

Nicole tried to run to Jackson, but Moira gripped her wrist tightly. Nicole raised the gun at her, but Moira shook her head. She was too busy chanting to speak, but there was fear in her eyes, and a warning. Nicole motioned for Jackson to come to her. He got to his feet, but Josiah had the gun on him instantly.

“Damn it, let him go!” Nicole shrieked at Josiah. “Do whatever you fucking want, just let my husband go!”

“Fine!” Josiah said between his chants. “You shall make a far more meaningful sacrifice anyway, Caulfield.”

Josiah pointed his gun at Nicole's chest. Jackson threw himself forward, and the gun went off. Everything else happened in a rush. Harvey lunged at Josiah, and the pistol went off several more times. Moira shrieked, leaping forward and knocking down several of the green candles. The three figures struggled in the center of the circle as red eyes gleamed in the shadows above. A form was taking shape there, small in the center of the swirling soot and shadows.

Nicole took no notice of the battle inside the circle. She caught Jackson as he fell against her, and his weight dragged them to the ground. His legs went out from under him and she had to hold him up against her knees. She pushed back his coat, and felt as if her organs had all turned inside out. Dark blood was gushing from his chest in thick spurts. She balled up his coat and pressed it tightly against the wound. Jackson did not even flinch. He was already deathly white in the green candlelight.

“Ho—Hold on,” Nicole gasped. “Jackson, just hold on. I'll get you help. Can you stand up? If I can just get you out of this damned place, you—you'll be fine. Okay? Honey?”

“Get out, Nicole,” Jackson slurred. “You get out of here before it's too late. Your boy was right about everything. This place … is Hell … Please get out, Nicole. Please save yourself.”

Jackson coughed and blood trickled down from his mouth. No amount of pressure could stop the blood from pouring, and Nicole's hands were drenched with it. She trembled as the hot lifeblood of her husband spilled over her hands, soaked her coat, her jeans. She kissed him, as if she could breathe enough of her energy into him to keep him animated. His lips were cold and she almost gagged on the meaty, coppery taste of blood. His mouth twitched, but he could hardly kiss her back. The light in his beautiful blue eyes was fading.

“Nicole,” he whispered.

Jackson managed to lift a hand to his chest. He weakly tugged at the chain around his neck. With a burst of strength (his last, though Nicole denied it to herself), he yanked the chain from his neck. He held it towards Nicole, chain swinging wildly from his shaking hand.

“Take—Take it,” Jackson rasped. “Please … Nicole … be safe. Be—”

Jackson coughed and more blood spewed from his mouth. Nicole begged him not to leave him. Despite the blood, she kissed him, again and again. The blood tasted foul now. Nicole cried out, her tears mingling with the blood on their faces.

There was a scream, but Nicole saw nothing but Jackson. In the background, there was the sound of shuffling little footsteps. More screams. Nicole kissed Jackson's forehead tenderly.

“Be safe, Nicole,” Jackson murmured. “O … kay … darlin'? I love you, so … I love you, Nicole. I … love … ”

Jackson's hand fell limply to the ground. The weak rise and fall of his chest stopped. Even the blood leaked more slowly from his chest. He shuddered several times, Nicole holding him still as best she could, and then did not move again. His eyes stared at Nicole, but they saw nothing. Nicole moved her hands from his chest and held him to her. She closed her eyes, willing her own heart to stop beating. Her ears rang and she was blind and deaf to everything around her.

_The gun._

Nicole lay Jackson down gently and kissed his forehead again. She shut his eyes and held his face in her hands. She kissed his bloody lips. Then she searched around for the revolver that would end all of it.

Nicole's eyes fell upon the scene in the center of the circle. A figure made of swirling soot stood there, a storm of coal dust whirling around her. The circle smudged and the green candles finished going out, leaving them in only the light of the lamps from the nearby tunnels. The moment the green light was gone, Moira, Harvey, and Josiah stopped struggling with each other. Nicole could see blood pouring from several wounds in Harvey's shoulder and upper chest. He was still alive, though, and she mentally cursed him for it.

Nicole's bitterness did not last long. The children rushed forward with preternatural speed. Josiah went to run away, but the being of soot blew him down. Ash Lee pounced on him, teeth bared, arms ripping and tearing. Josiah screamed. The meaty sounds made Nicole's gorge rise. She looked away only to see Canary and Tommy overtake Moira and Harvey. A hand was separated from Harvey and landed near Nicole. She crawled away from Jackson and vomited. Her mouth tasted more like blood than ever, and she threw up again.

When Nicole lifted her head, Coalette stood before her. She looked sorrowful, but resolved. A pale little hand reached out to Nicole, the heir to the curse of Coalette's sacrifice. Nicole wanted to die, but her fear of the child was too great. She ran.

Nicole's mind was blank. She ran through the endless dark tunnels until the little footsteps on her heels stopped. She thought she was running towards the exit, but it never came. Then the ground ran out, and she was falling.

Nicole wanted the cold embrace of oblivion, but her arms reached out on reflex. She grabbed onto a rotted wood beam. The beam broke, but it had interrupted her fall enough to keep it from being fatal. She hit the ground hard, however, and cried out in pain as her leg twisted at the knee. She dragged herself until her back hit a wall, blinded by pain. She turned her leg into a normal position, and the pain made the entire world go black.

* * *

Nicole fought against consciousness, but it yanked her back to reality. She coughed up black spit as she sat up. When she moved her leg, pain shot through it. Everything was darkness at the bottom of the shaft, and she heard water dripping. The air was thick was rot, soot, and the heady scent of organic decay.

Nicole searched the pockets of her parka until she found her flashlight. She turned it on and shone it around. Abandoned mining tools and carts lay strewn around. The light glinted on something bright, and she crawled towards it. She was surprised to see the distinct shape of her family's Artery, its Leviathan Cross dull red in the flashlight's beam. How had it gotten here? Hadn't Oliver taken it when he left?

_Oliver._

Nicole shone the light around again. She thought that she was too numb to feel any more pain, but the sight of the small sneaker wrung the last dregs of sorrow from her heart. She crawled over to the figure, dragging her leg along excruciatingly. Fresh tears fell, and she whimpered without even realizing it.

Oliver had also fallen down the shaft, but nothing had broken his fall. The lock box lay broken near his pale hand. His head was twisted so badly on his neck that Nicole knew she would find no pulse beating in his neck, no breath coming from his lips. He was very cold. Nicole pulled him close, careful to keep his head from lolling back, and cradled him in her arms.

There was no way back up from the bottom of the shaft, and she could not walk on her broken leg. She knew she would die down here, and all she felt was relief. Her tears stopped and she nodded to herself in acceptance. All she had to do was wait for death to free her from this world of pain and death and evil. She only had to wait.

Sharp footsteps scraped the dirt nearby. Her skin broke into goosebumps and her hair stood on end. Her stomach twisted with primal terror, and her heart went racing in her chest. Nicole laughed.

“That was fast,” she said. “Thank God, that was fast.”

Nicole pointed her flashlight towards the footsteps and looked up. Her first thought was that Death was a very handsome man. The beam lit upon sharply chiseled features and a sensuously curved mouth, a bit full on the bottom. He was tall, slim, and his suit was rich, velvety black. The soles of his patent black and red shoes clacked when they hit stone slabs.

A flicker of motion caught Nicole's attention. She lowered her gaze and caught sight of a red tail flicking back and forth behind the man. Relief chilled into dread. She raised the light again, and now she could see the black and red eyes, the two obscene red horns poking out from his forehead. He jerked a hand and a cane appeared in it, its head a horned humanoid skull. Red rubies gleamed from the eye sockets, and from a large ring on the hand that rested atop it.

Nicole's brain had decided it had had enough horror for one lifetime.

“You're the Devil,” Nicole said flatly. “The actual fucking Devil. Lucifer.”

“Lou Sapphire, actually,” the sharp man said. “And it is a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Caulfield.”

“Mrs. Wallace.”

“Not anymore.”

Nicole's brain was still not quite ready to give up anger. Deep, dark rage filled her. Lou Sapphire knelt down before her, smiling hatefully. He took her hand in his own and went to lift it to his lips. She yanked it away and slapped him. She was surprised when her hand struck warm, living flesh, as supple as any man's would be. Shock filled those unnatural eyes, then amusement. Beneath the humor, however, Nicole saw a faint trace of anger.

“That was quite rude, _Ms. Caulfield_. Very unbecoming.”

With a swift motion, Lou brought the skull at the end of his walking stick down upon Nicole's injured knee. Pain shot straight through her entire leg, every nerve set on fire, and she screamed.

“Very unbecoming indeed,” Lou said. “Please, Ms. Caulfield, I am no enemy of yours. Let us not quarrel.”

The skull rested beneath Nicole's chin, turning her face up to face Lou's. Nicole's fury engulfed her, and she gratefully let it burn away her shock, fatigue, grief, even much of the physical pain. She was going to die, and then she could never be hurt again. What did she have to lose except her dignity? She promised herself that she would not give that up to this creature, the root of all evils.

She reached into her coat pocket and found Jackson's cross. As Lou poked the skull's horns into either side of her face curiously, she lifted the cross and smacked it into the center of his forehead. He winced, one eye twitching, and peeled it off. It left a red imprint. He shook with fury and hurled the cross into the depths of the mine. He swung the walking stick back, and Nicole readied herself for what would surely be a fatal blow. At least she would die having defied the cause of all this tragedy. That made her smile.

The blow never came. Lou lowered his cane, bristling with restrained fury. He ran his tongue over his lips and managed to smile.

“You're a brave woman,” he said. “I can … admire that.”

“I don't want your admiration,” Nicole spat. “I don't want anything from you. Keep your fucking mine and your fucking dead children and this whole fucking town! I don't care! Just kill me already. Kill me!”

Nicole put her weight on her good leg and lunged at him. She went to punch him this time, but he caught her by both wrists. Their faces were too close, and she could smell his smoky breath. He panted hotly against her face, and licked his lips again. Jackson would never be this close to her again. He would never be this warm against her again. Sorrow made Nicole suicidal. She leaned her head back and then cracked her forehead against Lou's, just where the cross had marked him.

Lou roared and flung her across the cavern as easily as if she were a rag doll. She hit wall hard, heard her shoulder crack, and crumbled to the ground. Pain made her vision explode into darkness and stars. She told herself it would be over soon, that he would certainly end her empty life now. But his glossy shoes came into her view, and then he knelt again. He lifted her head by the hair to glare into her eyes. Nicole tried to work up enough spit to spit at him, but her mouth was bone dry.

“Forgive me,” Lou said insincerely. “I can tell that the stick won't work with you, so why don't I offer you a carrot instead?”

“Fuck you.”

Lou tsked at her and sat her up against the wall. Nicole trembled with pain but refused to cry out. He smoothed down her hair as if she were a doll. He sat crouched before her, head cocked at her with interest, his tail whipping around behind him. All she wanted was to hurt him again. It thrilled her to think that she had actually injured the fiend.

“Come now, Ms. Caulfield, you are to become a very powerful businesswoman,” Lou said. “You will not get far if you turn down deals before even knowing the terms.”

“I'm not making any deals with you,” Nicole said. “Why the fuck would I? This is your mine, those kids were sacrificed to you. You let this happen. You let them die, all of them! Bobby and Krystal and Oliver and-and Jackson! It's all your fucking fault!”

“I've forced no one's hand,” Lou said. “I cannot, if you must know. I am forbidden to overwrite free will. For example, I cannot take your pretty little body and use it as I like, more's the pity. However, I can offer to repair it for you, on certain terms.”

“Fuck. You.”

“There should be finesse in finagling, Ms. Caulfield, otherwise it's not fun. But you're just a blunt one, aren't you? How about this?” Lou sighed. “You agree to hear me out, and I will heal your shoulder and leg. Isn't that generous?”

“What for?” Nicole laughed. “I'm going to die, anyway. Just leave them broken.”

“Not much of a taste for carrots, either,” Lou said regretfully. “Aren't you a tough one?”

Lou stood up and paced, tapping the end of the walking stick on the ground. Nicole wondered why he was being so patient with her. She was curious, but she refused to ask anything of him. Let him stew.

Lou spun on his heels and stalked across the cavern. Nicole shut her eyes, determined to ignore him. She heard a dragging sound, and kept her eyes shut. If he was bringing over something to crush her, at least it would be relatively quick. Her fists clenched and she fought against the wave of fear overwhelming her. Finally, she opened her eyes.

Lou had dragged over the body of Oliver.

“What—what are you _doing_? Put him down!”

“Well, of course.”

Lou threw the limp corpse onto Nicole's lap. The kid's head nearly twisted fully around and she righted it. Fresh tears streamed down her face as she held the boy's body. Lou had the gold nugget marked with his sign in one hand and was tossing it up and down casually.

“He came to return this to the children,” Lou said. “The foolish brat thought that he might still appease them before they completely destroyed the town. He thought that he could at least stop them from killing _you_.”

Nicole bowed her head over Oliver's to hide her expression. Her tears washed some of the dirt from the boy's face.

“In the end, he brought my gold back to me,” Lou said. “Now wouldn't it be kind of me to return the favor?”

Nicole hated herself for it, but the words set the gears of her heart turning again. Now it was Lou's turn to let her stew. Giving up, she looked up at Lou.

“How?”

“How else? What can anyone give the dead?” Lou said. “Life, my dearly defiant woman. I can return him to life— _true life_. Raising the dead is easy, if you don't mind them spending eternity as the undead. But this boy's soul is not long departed, and it is trapped here, in my territory. He even died with my gold near him. I can return him to living, breathing life.”

Nicole stroked Oliver's hair as she watched the Devil's eyes flicker with anticipation. _I'm a moth being drawn to his flames,_ she thought. Lou had said he could not overwrite free will, but she assumed he could still _influence_ it. The flash of those three rubies and the waving of his tail were nearly hypnotic. Nicole looked down at Oliver again, squeezing her eyes shut to clear her mind.

“In return for what?” she asked. “What in hell do you want?”

“Why should I want for anything in Hell, it is my domain.”

“You know what I mean!”

Lou laughed. Nicole realized that she had not really hurt him much at all, merely chafed his pride. She was sorely disappointed. He moved too quickly for her eyes to catch the motion, and was crouching before her again. He reached out to touch her face. He was goading her, daring her to attack him again. Nicole remained perfectly still.

“What do you want from _me_?” Nicole asked through gritted teeth. “What could you possibly want from me? My soul?”

“Why do humans always make souls sound as easy to obtain as cheap takeout?” Lou snorted. “It is quite a long process, selling one's soul to me, it requires years of service. Real dedication. I should very much like you to give your soul to me, but it remains to be seen if you are even capable of such an act.”

“Cut the bull,” Nicole said in exasperation. “You want me to set myself on the path of devoting my soul to you, don't you?”

“That is one way to put it.”

“Then you may as well say you want my soul!” Nicole snapped.

“I want your service, you fastidious bitch!”

The two glared at one another. Lou ran a hand through his raven hair, bowed his head a moment. Nicole wanted to grab him by those horns and smash his face into something. She might have, if it had not been for his offer to return Oliver to life.

“I want you to serve me as CEO and majority shareholder of Entry Energy,” Lou said slowly and precisely, as if speaking to a challenged child. “That is what I want.”

“And Jackson?”

“Jackson is dead.”

“Bring him back, too,” Nicole said. “Bring Oliver and Jackson back to life, and I … I'll do it. I'll serve you.”

Lou's eyes went very wide and she could see the colors shifting like molten lava and ink. His tail had stopped moving and gone rigid. Nicole was both gratified and terrified to see him this incensed. She clutched Oliver more tightly against her.

“I … cannot bring Jackson back.”

“Why not?” Nicole asked. “He died in _your_ territory with _your_ gold nearby. Why can't you bring him back to life?”

Lou bowed his head again, lank hair falling against his horns. When he lifted it, he did not meet Nicole's eyes. He stared at the ring on his finger instead. Was that sorrow in his gaze, or was Nicole hallucinating from trauma?

“Are you even the Devil?” Nicole asked.

Lou's jaw tensed and he continued staring at the ring.

“Why do you ask?”

“You act like a human,” Nicole replied. “An asshole human with superpowers, but still.”

“And you act very brave for a broken woman that's lost everything she loves,” Lou shot back. He exhaled through his nose. “I am one of Lucifer's incarnates, a piece of his, _our_ , collective being born into the body of a human. I, Lou Sapphire, was born in Wassen Hole in 1933.”

“Are you kidding me?” Nicole blurted out, curiosity getting the better of her. “You haven't been here all that time, I would have seen you, you would have—”

“I died in 1966, and I was resurrected that year,” Lou said. “I've been more careful of my existence since then.”

“You've been hiding.”

“Why do you insist on vexing me, Ms. Caulfield?” Lou asked. “Do you know the things that I could do to you?”

“Not before I make a deal with you,” Nicole said. “You threw me because you lost your temper, but you can't torture me into making a decision, can you? Otherwise, you would have done it already. You really can't force a decision, that would overwrite my free will.”

“Perhaps not, but I can torture you just for the _hell_ of it,” Lou snarled. “I am Lou Sapphire, Satan incarnate, and I am more powerful than your stupid, shocked little brain can comprehend!”

“If you're so powerful, bring Jackson back!”

“I CAN'T!”

Lou stood and pointed in the direction of the cross he had thrown.

“Oh, I tried to stake a claim on your pretty husband, but he was already _protected_!” Lou practically spat the word. “He died with that relic pushing me out of his mind, and it sent his soul on away to my Father's stagnant Heaven! He's gone, _Ms._ Caulfield! Gone forever! Or until my Father finally decides to pull that promised Resurrection, as if I didn't do that first.”

“Then I have to go with him,” Nicole said. “I have to meet him there. I resisted you. I'm not a good person, but I've tried my best. I can meet him in Heaven.”

“You would go and let this boy die?” Lou asked. “You would leave his soul here, to wander the mine with the other dead children for all of eternity?”

Nicole covered her eyes with a hand. The incessant pain was making her drowsy, especially as her adrenaline drained. Even her hatred of Lou Sapphire couldn't dull her fatigue anymore. It seeped out of her marrow, paralyzing her muscles, slowing her heartbeat. As her body faded, she felt her soul being worn down inside it. How could she outlast Lou? Incarnate or not, he was still the Devil.

“I will return Oliver to life, true life, and the two of you can walk out of here whole and healthy,” Lou said. “In return, I ask only for your loyalty in protecting my interests in Entry Energy.”

“Why the hell do you want to control a company like that, anyway?”

“That is my business.”

“People will suffer, probably die,” Nicole said. “If I help you, it's only going to cause more death, more misery, more pain.”

“But it will end some of your misery and pain, and prevent Oliver's death,” Lou pointed out. “Does he really deserve to be left here with that broken neck? The child lived in darkness and suffering, shall he die in the same, never knowing happiness? Simply because he was born wrong in the eyes of his father? Would you sacrifice him for your ideals, the way my followers sacrificed those five children for the gold? Well, I suppose it does run in your bloodline.”

Nicole looked down at Oliver, brushed his hair off his face. She could not bring herself to lay him down. Lou was tapping his fingers on the cane's skull impatiently.

“Die, then,” he said. “Stay there broken until the end. You won't join your dear husband, I'm sorry to say. Your family served me for many years, and you shall die in my mine. You will wander here with Oliver and the other dead children, reliving all the memories of your losses until you are as mad and vengeful as the little miners. I will regret not gaining an asset and an ally, but I will go on. I am eternal. It is no skin off my tail.”

“Back.”

“Hm?”

“Skin off my back.”

“You no longer amuse me,” Lou said. “Accept my deal or deny it. Yes or no.”

Nicole opened her mouth but then closed it. She looked down at Oliver again. _If Bobby had chosen me back then, this child could have been ours. He could have been mine. I've thought it ever since I met him._

“You brought me back to Wassen Hole,” Nicole said, voice slurred with fatigue.

“You're stalling.”

“I'm considering.”

“Oh. Well, in that case, I suppose I can entertain you a while longer.”

Lou waved a hand and a boulder dislodged from the rubble. It rolled down behind him, stopping just as he moved to sit upon it. His tail curled around his ankles.

“It was just after you had a conversation with Jackson about having children,” Lou said. “You were in New York, and I have many servants there. You were having coffee while Jackson was working, and one of my servants kept you company. She spoke of her recent journey to her ancestral home, and the two of you got talking about roots. She suggested you return to Wassen Hole, and then made certain you forgot the entire conversation.”

“Isn't that meddling with free will?”

“I didn't do it, my human servant freely chose to do it, and it was only suggestion,” Lou said with a smug smile. “Ultimately, you chose to return to Wassen Hole of your own free will.”

 _Slippery bastard,_ Nicole thought. She reached into her coat pocket and was relieved to find the flask. She drank from it. _I'll need to be alert enough to make sure our contract really does protect Oliver and I. If I make it._ If _I do._

“The seeds were sown, and you planted them in Jackson,” Lou said. “The man did have a passion for his work, didn't he? Such a hunger for the gifts born in the bowels of this world. Such acuity for doling it out at the highest price. It's a shame that I couldn't tempt him to my side, even after showing him how dark the depths of his heart could be.”

“You made his temper uncontrollable,” Nicole said. “You were the reason he hit Oliver.”

“I merely incited the flames already burning in his heart,” Lou said. “Dissatisfaction with your indecision about starting a family. Jealousy of your old crush, Bobby. Fear that you would spend all your maternal passion on Oliver and leave him childless.”

“No, you're lying! Jackson didn't feel that way!”

“Oh, he did,” Lou said. “Free will, remember? He would not have struck Oliver if there had not been a part of him that _wanted_ to. Only those that surrender all of their will to me can be used as my puppets, and it is a rarer thing than so many movies would have you people believe.”

Nicole drank from the flask again. _I could fall asleep right now if I weren't bargaining with the Devil,_ she thought. She almost laughed. She bit her tongue until the pain dulled her wooziness.

“But Jackson's soul has flown,” Lou lamented. “Yours shall go, at least from that lovely shell, soon, as well. You should answer me, Ms. Caulfield. If you pass out, you may never wake up.”

“Please, I can't stand to hear that, not yet,” Nicole said. “Just call me 'Nicole'.”

“Nicole—or should I say, _Miss Nicole_?”

Lou perfectly imitated Oliver's childish voice, and Nicole's heart twisted. She doubled over, her chest hurting so badly that it was difficult to breathe. The pain shot through to her head. She thought that she must be having a heart attack. With a last burst of strength, she sobbed, and screamed, and prayed to God. Lou rolled his eyes at the last, and plugged his ears with his fingers like an insolent boy.

“Goddamn you.”

“Story of my life.”

“You motherfucking son-of-a-bitch.”

“I didn't have a mother to fuck, but feel free to call my Father a 'bitch' all you like.”

Nicole picked up a stone and flung it at him. Lou swerved on his boulder perch, narrowly avoiding it. He waved a hand lightly. Nicole's good arm twisted, and then snapped like a twig. Her throat was too sore to even scream.

“I was attacked, that was obviously self-defense,” Lou said. He hopped down from the boulder, swinging his walking stick. “Please! Do not draw this out any longer, Nicole. A simple 'yes' or 'no' will do.”

Nicole was close to losing consciousness. Her breathing was ragged, every gasp tearing her strained throat. Her entire body was ablaze with pain. She could not even hold Oliver properly anymore, with both arms disabled. His head was sliding out of place, twisting backwards, and she could not turn it back.

“YES!”

Lou lifted his head victoriously, a smile slowly spreading across his lips. He swung his cane in a circle and pointed it at Nicole. Immediately, all her pain vanished. Her body felt light, free. Was this her natural state of being? She had forgotten how it felt _not_ to hurt. She grasped Oliver's head and pulled him close again. She was able to draw her knees up and blood rushed back to her feet.

Lou clapped his hands together and the walking stick disappeared. When he parted them, there was a sheet of parchment between them, and an obsidian and gold fountain pen between his left thumb and forefinger. It's cap boasted one of those uncanny rubies.

“Shall we finalize the deal, then?”

“Only if you agree to my terms. I will serve all your interests at Entry Energy, but no more,” Nicole said. “I will _only_ serve you in my capacity as CEO.”

“That is all I ask.”

“I want your assurance that Oliver and I will live healthy lives until we are at least … at least eighty. No accidents or diseases or anything can detract from our lifespans or quality of life,” Nicole said. “And I want to make it clear that this deal will have no bearing on Oliver's future. I want him to have free will and free choice to serve any deity that he chooses, or no deity at all. This deal will not give you any claim over his soul. This is my decision and mine alone. I am the only one to pay the price for it.”

Lou's mouth tightened, but he went on writing in the terms.

“Your other three Arteries are above,” Nicole said. “I want your assurance that now Devil's Vein will be closed forever, and that the children here will have some kind of peace.”

“I'm sure I can find some use for those vengeful little ones,” Lou nodded. “Lovely creatures. They will be in my employ.”

“That's not good enough.”

“They're mine,” Lou said, almost childishly. “Fine. I will only use them in Hell and here in this mine, which will be sealed. No, er, 'innocent' people will suffer their wrath.”

 _As if innocent people existed,_ Lou thought. _Now there's an oxymoron._

“I want you to leave Wassen Hole alone.”

“No. I'm sorry, Ms. Caulfield, but this is my hometown, too,” Lou said. “I still have a church and worshipers here. So many of my dearly departed followers still walk the earth here. I cannot abandon Wassen Hole.”

“Then you will help rebuild it and protect it.”

“I was going to do that anyway,” Lou said flippantly. “In fact, we will do it together. Devil's Vein will be gone, but these mountains are full of valuable resources. I can point you to every single deposit. Entry Energy can open an office here.”

“That's what you wanted all along,” Nicole said. “As much power as you can suck out of the earth, and a way to revitalize your hometown. It's stupid. It's so stupid.”

“You're calling my plan stupid?” Lou asked, arched eyebrows raised. “Weren't you here for the very same thing.”

“That's what's stupid,” Nicole said. She laughed humorlessly. “I was stupid. So, so stupid.”

“You see? We are not so unalike,” Lou said. “Excepting your stupidity, of course.”

The thought made Nicole nauseous, but she could not deny it. Her mind was still whirling from how very _human_ Lou Sapphire was. It reminded her of the old cartoons she used to watch, where characters would have an angel and a devil on each shoulder to represent a moral conundrum. _But the angels and devils aren't only outside us, they're also inside,_ she thought. _These are our deities, aren't they? The jealous and judgmental God, the selfishly malicious Satan, they're two sides of the same coin, and that coin is humanity._

“We are indeed the deities of humanity,” Lou answered her thoughts. “My Father in all His … _wisdom_ … decided to stake a claim on human beings. No, He did not create them, but never mind who did. He took them under His wing so that He could feed off of their worship. He even betrayed His first children, His own creations, we angels. I suppose my Father enjoys slumming amongst the cosmic scum. In any case, my Father, I, and all the heavenly and hellish hosts are created and worshiped in man's image. That is why I am so _human_ , as you say. I am a man. This body is a man's, it is mostly flesh and blood.”

“You are a piece of Lucifer's soul.”

“Yes.”

“But still connected to the other pieces, and the true source of him? You all exist all at once, on so many different plains?”

“Correct” Lou shrugged. “If my Father can be His own Son and Holy Spirit at once, and be everywhere, well, why wouldn't I be able to?”

“What is the true Lucifer like?”

“Not so mind-devouring as some deities, but beyond your ken,” Lou said. “Nicole, you are fascinated by me, aren't you?”

“No, it's the opposite,” Nicole said. “I'm unimpressed.”

Lou crouched down again. This time, he got on hand and knee over her, arms barring her in place. She held Oliver between them as his smoky breath grazed her face again. This close, she noticed his skin was almost pore-less, perfect. Despite his handsomeness, there was something loathsome just beneath the perfect features. He was almost too handsome, too appealing, an invitation to poisonous decadence.

“You say that, yet you can't stop trying to figure me out,” he said. “Oh, don't deny it, I see it in your surprisingly resilient mind. I _am_ a man. And you suddenly find yourself without one in your life.”

The point of Lou's tail touched her cheek lewdly.

“Let's just finish the contract.”

Lou rested the paper on her chest, leaning one arm on her. She regretted ever trying to pull power over him. She knew that now he would never stop making her acutely aware of her place.

“I will only serve you in my professional capacity.”

“You already said that.”

“I want it specified clearly,” Nicole seethed. “Now read it back to me.”

Lou brought his lips to her ear and murmured the contract to her. His warmth was alluring, but Nicole cringed away from him as best as she could. _It's cliché, it's cliché, it's cliché,_ she thought. _The seduction of the Devil. It's just an old cliché. Fuck him._

“Do you want to?”

“Get out of my head!” Nicole snapped. “Put that in your fucking contract! You have to stay out of my thoughts!”

“Hmm, that's a bit of an overreach.”

Lou sat back on his heels, tapping the contract with the end of his pen. He shrugged and wrote it in.

“Don't flatter yourself, though,” he said. “Your thoughts aren't so interesting that I can't do without them. Now is that all? Or do you want unicorns and an extra-large cheeseburger, too?”

Nicole thought, brow furrowed. Lou groaned, muttering about human arrogance. As if he was one to talk.

“You had better decide before I decide to send you to hell and eat this boy's soul,” Lou said.

“You must really want a stake in Jackson's company.”

“I have plans.” Lou poked Nicole's cheek with the sharp end of his pen, drawing it up to just beneath her eye. “If you want to have plans for the future, you had better put an end to your meandering melodrama.”

“Fine. Fine, I'm done. It's a deal.”

“Good!”

Lou took Nicole's left arm by the wrist. He took the cap off of the pen's end, revealing a small, sharp black blade. Nicole instinctively tugged her arm away.

“Now, now, you didn't think a plain signature would be enough to seal a deal with the Devil, did you?”

“I thought you wanted to end the melodrama.”

“Only _your_ melodrama, my dear. I have a reputation to live up to. Now hold still.”

Lou yanked her arm firmly back towards himself. He pulled up her sleeve, and ran the blade down the center of it, right along the lines of her veins. He did not cut deeply enough to sever any of them, thankfully. He dipped the pen in her blood and gave it to her, pointing to one end of the scroll.

“Maiden name, please,” Lou said.

It stung, but Nicole signed her name as 'Nicole Caulfield' on the end of the scroll. Lou released her, and the cut healed instantly. Another little courtesy, she thought bitterly. Lou rolled his own sleeve up, slit his wrist without a thought, dipped the pen in deep, and signed his name on the other end. The blood let off wisps of smoke. He licked the gash on his arm before it closed up again. His own blood sizzled on his tongue (not forked, Nicole noted).

“Want a taste?”

Before she could do anything, Lou brought his lips to hers. The hot drops of blood on his tongue filled her palette, tasting of wine, chocolate, a hundred of her favorite indulgences, and a molten flavor she could not identify. She turned her face and spit, but she could not get the taste out of her mouth. The strange blend was compelling, and her face flushed with radiant warmth. It spread down her throat, into her body. Despite the physical pleasure, Nicole was disgusted to feel his bodily fluid inside her.

“Damn you.”

“Yes, yes.”

Nicole wished with every fiber of her being that she could kill him. But she was distracted from her hatred by a jerk in Oliver's body. She had made the deal, but her rational brain had not yet accepted the fact that Oliver could live again. She gripped his shoulders tightly as his body twisted horribly, and then settled back into place. She could see his bones resetting themselves into place beneath his thin white skin. The sound of crackling and clicking made her stomach turn.

“What are you doing to him?” she asked Lou accusingly.

“Fulfilling my end of the bargain,” Lou said lazily, staring into his ring.

Nicole went to protest, but Oliver's body shuddered again. It lay straight now, his head in a natural position. The bruises healed. His eyes began to move beneath his delicate eyelids. His lips parted and he gasped softly. His entire body jumped as if from an electrical shock. When he was still again, his chest rose and fell normally. Nicole put a hand over his chest and could feel his heart beating steadily.

Nicole knew who had brought the boy back to life. She knew what she had given up for this. Yet a wondrous smile spread across her face. It was a miracle. It was a dark, dirty, evil miracle, but it was a miracle.

“Personally, I think water into wine is a far better trick,” Lou remarked at Nicole's expression. “More useful, in any case, and harmless. You really don't want to know how Lazarus ended up.”

Lou bent, picking up Nicole's forgotten flask, and waved a hand over it. He unscrewed the top, sniffed, and took a long swallow of liquor.

“Whiskey from nothing is better still,” he added. It was a lie, he had actually transported whiskey from his own private stock in Hell into the flask.

Oliver's eyes fluttered open and he looked up at Nicole. Nicole laughed like a little girl. She hugged him as if for dear life.

“Miss Nicole?”

“Oliver! Oh, Oliver! Thank God!”

“Not him,” Lou muttered.

“Thank you.”

Lou raised an eyebrow.

“Damn you, but thank you,” Nicole said. “Thank you.”

“Just remember your part of the bargain,” Lou said. “Now, since you did make me promise to protect your miserable lives … ”

Lou snapped his fingers. In a blink, the three of them were above the mine shaft. Nicole helped Oliver to his feet. He was too confused to speak, but when he saw Lou Sapphire, he seemed to instantly know who he was. He bowed his head in respect or fear or both. Lou ruffled his hair until Nicole hit his hand away.

“You have no claim on him.”

“I tire of your disrespect.”

“I'm sorry, my Lor—Lou.”

Lou had to admit the irony of finally being called 'Lou' when he actually wanted to be called something more formal. He was content with the deal he had made, however, so he let it go. He motioned to them, and they started towards the entrance to Devil's Vein.

When they came to the tunnel leading to the chamber where Jackson's body lay, Nicole stopped.

“I can't leave Jackson here.”

“That wasn't in the contract,” Lou said testily.

“Please.”

Lou clapped his hands twice. The five child miners of Devil's Vein came crawling to them. Excepting Coalette, their mouths, limbs, and clothes were stained with fresh blood. All of them had sated smiles on their faces. Even Coalette had a small, pleased expression.

“Come, little ones, let's end this day with one good deed.”

Lou led everyone to the chamber. Oliver's eyes went wide when he saw the scene, and he clung to the entrance wall. Nicole was worried about him, but she could not let Lou see one shred of weakness in her now. Lou directed the children to pick up Jackson's body, thankfully untouched, and carry it to the mouth of the main tunnel.

“Your followers are lying dead there, in pieces.”

Nicole motioned at the scraps of meat that were all that remained of Josiah Lee, and the Graves couple. Lou scarcely glanced at them.

“Oh well,” he said. “They served their purpose. Come, come.”

The children carried Jackson's body. Nicole put an arm around Oliver and led him along. Lou followed them all, whistling an old miner's song all the way.

* * *

_Oh well? Oh well?!_

Moira Graves lifted her head. Her first sight was that of her husband's chewed and shredded corpse. Such a big man, yet those children had left so little of him. She refused to think about how much of her own body was left. Pure fury alone kept her alive.

_After all those years of service, after all our sacrifices, our refusal to leave this piece of shit town! 'Oh well'?! That's all our precious Master has to say? He says only that as he walks out of here with that stuck-up bitch and that retarded child?! 'Oh well'?!_

Moira had half of one functional arm left, and she used it to drag herself across the chamber. She tried to use her other arm, but was greeted with the sight of a stump, torn and bitten off above the elbow. She cursed and used her last arm to crawl up to Josiah's book, the 'Necronomicon'. She flipped through the pages with her face and teeth. Her family had some interest in those eldritch practices, and finally she found the ritual she was seeking. She raised herself to sit lopsidedly above the book, and looked around the chamber again. Her eyes fell on Harvey's half-chewed face.

“We had a good run, Harvey,” she said. “Don't worry. I'll get the bastard. I'll get that bastard for both of us, even if I get thrown into the Void for it. Fuck him.”

Moira found what she was looking for: a gun. It turned out to be Nicole's revolver, and it was still loaded. She crawled back to the Necronomicon and leaned it on the book, leaned her temple to it. A protruding splinter of bone in her arm was just thin enough to cover the trigger. She chanted in a language never meant for human vocal chords, and a single green candle flared up again. Alien shadows danced upon the wall. The blood from the slaughter of her husband and her own destruction flowed to complete the circles of symbols drawn on the chamber floor.

“ _Iä! Iä! Cthulhu fhtagn! Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah-nagl fhtagn!_ ” Moira screamed into the chamber in the wildness of her death throes. “ _Ä'ef thro lao kle'ef, ek sine ki e' crafgthn Nyarlathotep de'ethopmn!_ ”

Moira laughed madly as the chamber slanted before her eyes, its angles melting into themselves and each other in impossible ways. _He was here_. _He had listened._ All the ritual needed was one final sacrifice.

Still laughing, Moira used the fragment jutting out of her arm to pull the trigger.


	12. Chapter 12

Nicole dragged herself out of bed, refusing to look at the empty spot beside her. She opened her pill case, popped several different tablets into her mouth, and washed them down with the bottle of whiskey she kept on her bedside table. She slept naked lately, so she only had to pee and then let herself into a blissfully warm shower. Afterward, she brushed her teeth, rubbed oils into her skin, and wiped fog off the bathroom mirror.

Nicole stared at her reflection. She had expected her hair to have gone white after all she had gone through, but the raven locks were not interrupted by a single strand of gray. In fact, her hair was longer and lusher. Her skin was still pale, but it was smooth, almost glowing. She looked more beautiful than ever.

Sometimes Nicole wanted to take a knife to herself just to show the world a glimpse of the scars she bore inside. Sometimes she wanted to summon Lou Sapphire and tell him to forget their terms and let her die now. But a deal was a deal.

Nicole dried and brushed her hair laboriously. Then she coiled it back on her head with deft motions, leaving two curling tendrils to frame her face. She powdered and perfumed herself, then dressed in a smart skirt suit. Despite the season, she wore no stockings. She no longer got the chills. If she ever began to grow cold, she remembered the taste of his blood on her tongue, and her entire body warmed. It was a nasty little 'gift', but there it was.

Nicole's high heels clacked down the wood floors on the way to her old room. She knocked, and got no response. With a knowing smile, she let herself in. She walked over to her old bed and shook the bundle nestled there. Oliver mumbled and grumbled and rolled onto his back. She shook him again and his green eyes opened grudgingly.

“Come on, kid, time to get up.”

“I don't want to go.”

“Neither do I. Come on. Up.”

Nicole pulled Oliver into a sitting position while he rubbed his eyes. He yawned widely. Nicole ruffled his hair and left the room. She knew he would not disobey her. He appreciated her and they had grown close since she had adopted him. There was more than that, too. Oliver knew she had changed, sensed who she served, and she knew he was a little bit afraid of her. She hated that, but it could not be helped. One day, she would explain it all to him. Today, she was just glad he would do what she said without an unnecessary fight.

Oliver emerged from his borrowed room dressed in a suit. She straightened his tie. Though his eyes held a deep, ancient knowledge, he looked more childish than ever. She put a hand on his shoulder and led him downstairs. They put their coats on and headed out into the lightly chilled February air.

* * *

During the drive, Nicole and Oliver passed Devil's Vein. The earthquakes had caused the mine to totally collapse in on itself, and testing showed the rearrangement of the underground landscape had caused the resources to be lost to the depths. That was the flimsy story Nicole had Entry Energy spin, anyway. She had it bolstered with as much phony science as she could. These days, money could buy truth, after all.

They passed Devil's Vein and drove higher into the mountains. The board members had been as inconvenienced by Jackson's death as his parents had been devastated. Their reluctance to accept Nicole as CEO had been defeated by her uncanny ability to identify several viable spots for mining in the mountains outside her hometown. Inside of a month, they had several sites set up. None of them experienced the issues that had plagued Devil's Vein.

It was to one of these sites that Nicole drove to this morning. They parked at the end of a new dirt road, and Nicole allowed Oliver to wait in the car. He got out the handheld videogame console she had bought him, plugged headphones into his ears, and tuned the world out. The psychiatrist Nicole had paid too much for had confirmed what she already knew: Oliver coped better with fictional worlds than reality. Nicole wished that she could find a similar escape.

Nicole kissed the unresponsive Oliver's head and exited the car. Despite the soggy ground, she maneuvered her way up the slope to the waiting podium. She oversaw the soundchecks, chatted with the crew, ate a bagel from food service. She watched as the local news station rolled up in a van and a blandly handsome male anchor prepared himself to cover the event. He was such a perfectionist that Nicole was certain he had designs on making it outside this town, and she was reminded of her old self. The nostalgia pricked at her heart, and she turned away.

It was February 13th, 2017. Exactly two-hundred years had passed since Devil's Vein originally collapsed, trapping the five children of the four founding families inside. After the mine had collapsed again last month, Nicole had relived each of the children's death all over again, as she had when comatose. Lou promised a healthy body and long life, but nothing could protect her mind. So she had laid through a nightmare every night, being crushed by falling rocks, suffocating to death, choking on gases, all of it over and over again. This time, her mind did not push it away. This time, the memories were branded into her mind in perfect detail. She would never be able to forget the lost children of Devil's Vein.

The nightmares left Nicole so desperate that she called upon Lou again. They bartered. He promised the experiences would end once the anniversary had passed. He had said that he was 'festive' that way.

 _It will end today,_ Nicole thought. _It will be laid to rest once and for all today._

So Nicole climbed onto the stage, stood behind the podium, and made her speech. She suppressed the fury she felt at the parents attending. Lou had told her that most of them knew exactly why their children had died in the snow only a month ago. Those ten new dead children had been written off as the price of business returning to Wassen Hole. The parents had quietly buried them. They rarely spoke of their losses, so as not to sabotage the optimism surrounding the new mining operations. She wanted to kill them all, but she knew that way of thinking would only draw her closer to Lou Sapphire.

As if they weren't close enough.

* * *

Nicole was finally back in Texas the next day, with Oliver tucked away in a guestroom in the mansion she had shared with Jackson and his parents. They took Oliver in without question—after Nicole told some white lies about Jackson's feelings towards the boy. She did not feel guilty. She knew that in his heart of hearts, Jackson was a good man, and had not hated Oliver. He would have been happy to repent for his jealousy of the boy by letting Nicole adopt him, she was sure. She did plan to adopt him, could not see herself abandoning him now. She loved him, and that single light was enough to tether her to humanity.

The days went by in Texas slowly. Nicole was grateful for the rest. Oliver was still distant, but relaxed. Then the day came for Nicole to return to work. Weeks went by, a little quicker now.

Yet again, Nicole went through her morning ritual without feeling.

Yet again, Nicole's high heels clacked her through the day.

In the board meeting today, Lou Sapphire appeared at her shoulder. Nicole had neglected to forbid him from taking a practical hold on the company. A shareholder and his family had conveniently died, and Lou had appeared as the beneficiary of their last, aged heir. It was bullshit and Nicole knew it. He simply wanted to be at her shoulder, overseeing whatever she did. She often thought back to that first slap she had given him, and even knowing it hadn't really hurt him, it gave her pleasure.

Lou Sapphire went by that same name, and took on a less inhuman form (gone were his horns and tail, the molten eyes). Everyone was perfectly charmed by him. Today, he had taken charge of the meeting in his typical way. Nicole couldn't care less, about the company or the Devil.

“—new shareholder.”

Nicole came back to reality. She looked at Lou. Mr. Sapphire actually had a baffled frown on his face.

“What new shareholder?” he demanded.

“You haven't heard?” one of the senior shareholders asked. She glanced around the table, but no one aided her. She squared her shoulders. “Mr. Al-Amuli was killed in a freak accident. His son will be taking his place on the board. You really haven't heard? This will be his first meeting.”

“Well, no matter,” Lou said. “Times change and death visits us all. Ms. Caulfield understands that as much as … I .. do.”

Lou's confidence slipped from his face. Nicole enjoyed the effect, then followed his gaze. Another had joined the meeting, entering the room soundlessly. He was very tall, his skin a deep bronze, and he had a long, handsome face that made Nicole think of ancient pharaohs. He had long, thick black hair that was pulled back sharply in a tail. He looked nothing like the elderly man whose son he claimed to be, having a clean-shaven face, a rich black suit of a close-fitting, modern cut, and he wore no jewelry. The light in the room seemed to dim, and the shadow he cast across the white marble-tiled floor was unnaturally dark.

“Mr. Nizar Azif has stepped in to carry on in his father's place,” the old woman said. “On behalf of all of us here at Entry Energy, we would like to welc—”

“I object to this!”

The board members whipped their faces to Lou fast enough to get whiplash. Lou's eyes were reddish brown in his human form, the sclera white, but she could see sparks of fire just beneath the surface. Nicole's apathy turned to curiosity. Who could possibly upset the stalwart schemer this much?

Nicole looked back at Mr. Azif. He did not look surprised by Lou's reaction. He stared across the long table at the man with a slight smile on his full lips. As the board members broke into apologetic explanations and chatter, he slowly walked around the table towards Lou and Nicole. As he neared, Nicole could see that his eyes were ebony. His gaze absorbed the light without returning a single glimmer. Nicole was fascinated by him, if a little fearful. As controlled as he was, she didn't know what to expect from him as he approached. One moment Nicole thought he would do them harm, the next she expected supplication. _Has he even decided what to do yet?_ Nicole wondered. She shook the thought out of her head. Of course someone so suave knew what he was going to do.

“I cannot allow this! Ms. Caulfield, tell them!” Lou railed furiously. “This is unacceptable!”

Nicole thought Mr. Azif was several paces from them, but suddenly he was right beside Lou. Lou turned to him, making an effort not to step back. Though Lou was tall, Mr. Azif was several inches taller. His posture was regally straight. He reached out and Nicole could have sworn she saw Lou flinch. A strong bronze hand fell on Lou's shoulder.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Lou hissed at him. “How _dare_ you cross my path again. What interest could you possibly have in this company?”

“It is good to see you again, Lou Sapphire,” Mr. Azif said. “It has been far too long.”

Mr. Azif's voice was very deep, and rolled mellifluously off his tongue. His accent was a worldly melding of several, including Arabic and British, but it did not muddle his pronunciation. Nicole could not help staring at the handsome dark stranger. This close, she smelled a peculiar cologne that reminded her of dry desert plants, ancient spices, sacred incense, and exotic musk. There was an underlying note she supposed was his natural scent, but she could not define it.

“It hasn't been long enough!” Lou sneered. “What are you doing here? What is this?”

Mr. Azif's grip on Lou's shoulder tightened.

“I believe we should discuss this in private,” he said softly. “Don't you agree?”

Nicole could not believe Lou had allowed an obvious enemy to touch him for so long, let alone with such command. Whoever Mr. Azif was, Nicole wondered if he might be an ally to her. She would side with just about anyone (or _anything_ ) to see Lou brought low.

“Why don't you use my office?” Nicole offered. “It's just through the door behind us.”

Mr. Azif looked at her for the first time. Lou turned on her with fury and a hint of desperation in his eyes. Nicole gave him an 'I'm just trying to help' smile. When she looked back at Mr. Azif, her amusement cooled. She was unsettled by those deep, dark-shadowed black eyes. Lou's eyes were full of all the ugly emotions familiar to man, rage and jealousy and spite, but Mr. Azif's were empty. Though his expression was congenial enough, Nicole felt Mr. Azif regarded her with no more interest than she would an insect.

“That is very kind. Ms. Caulfield, is it?”

“Yes.” Nicole extended a hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Azif.”

“Call me 'Nizar', please, Ms. Caulfield.”

“Then you must call me 'Nicole'.”

Nizar pressed Nicole's hand lightly. His skin was cool, taut, and smooth as the bronze from which it took its color. He gave Nicole a smile as their eyes met. Nicole found herself fixated by those two black orbs, and they expanded until they filled her field of vision. As she tried to make out any hint of light in them, she felt cold tendrils coiling into her mind. Nicole knew he was rifling through her mind, and she realized that this being was nothing remotely human. Something he saw in her memories amused him, because she heard a laugh catch softly in his throat. He released her hand and turned back to Lou Sapphire.

“Shall we take Nicole up on her generosity, Lou?”

“Fine,” Lou said. “ _Fine,_ Nizar, or whatever you're calling your damned self these days.”

Nizar ignored Lou's anger. He nodded to Nicole, and the two went through the double doors nearby. The doors clicked shut. Nicole and the board members shared baffled looks. Chair legs scraped as the members drew into clusters, heads almost bumping together, to discuss this new event.

Nicole wandered closer to the doors to her office. She listened, but not a single sound escaped from the office. The silence was unnatural, most likely caused by some magic. Disappointed, she returned to the table and took her seat at its head. _Jackson's seat,_ she thought, a fresh stab of pain in her breast. She wondered how powerful this creature that called himself Nizar Azif was. After accepting the supernatural as fact, Nicole often found herself pondering whether Jackson was truly lost forever. She would snatch him straight out of Heaven if she could.

Only fifteen minutes passed before Nizar and Lou reappeared. Nicole stood and studied them closely. The only change in Nizar was that his smile was smugger. Lou was straightening his suit, and he ran a hand through his hair, trying to recollect himself. He was miserable, and cowed in a way Nicole would not have thought possible.

“Our little misunderstanding has been cleared up, I am happy to say,” Nizar announced. “Isn't that right, Lou?”

Lou bristled, and did not look at the man.

“Yes.”

The board members were relieved, but Nicole was not. As much as she hated Lou Sapphire, she was contractually bound to serve him. If this Nizar Azif was a threat to Lou, he may very well be a danger to her, as well. Her life meant little to her these days, but she was all that her soon-to-be adopted son Oliver had, and she was determined to live for him. She would have to keep an eye on this Nizar Azif.

* * *

Lou Sapphire excused himself directly after the meeting ended, and did not reappear for the rest of the day. Nicole shut herself in her office, and concentrated on work. The plans for Entry Energy's new, smaller headquarters in Wassen Hole had come to her for review. She hated the idea of returning to Wassen Hole, but Lou was adamant that they return to “our hometown”, as he phrased it. Nicole understood that Lou would be stronger in the place of his birth, and where he was still directly worshiped. She glowered at the plans and signed off on them without more than a glimpse. Her opinion didn't matter. Lou would have the final say in all things.

On her way out of the office, Nicole was surprised not to find Lou waiting. He liked to spend his evenings playing games of seduction with her. A few times, he had almost succeeded. Nizar Azif's appearance must have distracted or upset him even more than she thought.

Nicole was happy to have a night free from Lou's attentions. She collected her things and rushed from the building. She drove home as quickly as she could.

The one thing Nicole would not miss about Texas was the Wallace family estate. The kindness of Jackson's parents enshrouded her in guilt, and it no longer felt like home. She had taken to sleeping on the sofa in the master bedroom to avoid the empty space in the bed she had shared with her husband. She felt like an intruder, the thief that had come in the night and stolen Jackson Wallace away.

Nicole found Oliver playing videogames in his room. She still had not figured out what to do about his education. Oliver had been home-schooled by his mother, Krystal, and there was no sense in enrolling him in school in Texas if they would soon be returning to Wassen Hole. Nicole supposed that she would have to hire a tutor for him once they were settled back in their hometown. Mrs. Wallace hinted that the boy was too isolated, but Nicole saw no point in forcing him to socialize. What was out in the world besides people that would hurt and take advantage of him? Oliver was only thirteen. When some time had passed since the death of his family and he was old enough for high school, Nicole would broach the subject of entering the normal school world. Until then, she was content to leave him to heal in his own way, on his own time.

“How are you Oliver?” Nicole asked, throwing herself onto the sofa beside him. “How are you today?”

“You're home early.”

“Yes.”

“Did something happen?”

“Well, yes, but it isn't important.”

Oliver glanced at her sidelong. He paused his game and set the controller down. He was more interested in her life than his own. She hoped that would change once he was having lessons again. In the meantime, she told him about the new board member, Nizar Azif. Oliver was strangely interested in this man, and made her describe him in detail. While she spoke, he went to the bookshelf he had quickly filled up, and brought a musty old book to the sofa. He added a thick three-ring binder full of printouts and photocopies, newspaper clippings, photos, and ephemera.

“I think that I know who that man is.”

“Mr. Azif?” Nicole said. “How could you? Did you see him on the internet or something? He is the son of a billionaire.”

“No, he's not,” Oliver said. “He may be impersonating him, but he isn't that man. He isn't a man at all. There are only a few beings that take human form and could scare Mr. Sapphire. I think this must be one of the Elder Gods.”

Oliver turned the book to Nicole and tapped a page. There was a black-and-white drawing of a masked figure seated atop an Egyptian throne, skin dark, face hidden by a mask that looked more futuristic than ancient. The shading behind the figure curled and twisted in dizzying patterns, reminding Nicole of the way the shadows had moved during Josiah Lee's ritual. She lowered her gaze to the text beneath the drawing.

“Nuh—Nai—”

“Nyarlathotep,” Oliver said. “The Crawling Chaos. He is the embodiment of all the Elder Gods, and he serves the idiot god Azathoth.”

“What? Is this for real?”

“I told you to read about the Elder Gods,” Oliver said. “Miss Nicole, you can't ignore these things, they're important.”

“You shouldn't be thinking about these things,” Nicole said. “When did you put all this together? I told you to forget about all this occult nonsense.”

“It's not nonsense,” Oliver said. “I will put it all aside for a while, if you promise to read about it yourself, Miss Nicole.”

“Oliver, we're safe now,” Nicole said gently. “I know that you still have a lot of fears, so do I, but I promise that we're safe. None of these monsters will come get you, and I have Lou Sapphire's protection.”

“Mr. Sapphire cannot protect you from these beings,” Oliver said. “Don't stand between those two, Miss Nicole. Nyarlathotep can break minds just by appearing in one of his truer forms. He runs around causing chaos to fulfill the whims of Azathoth. If he's playing with humans again, then we're all in danger. The whole world, Miss Nicole.”

“What do you think he wants?”

“To drive as many mad as he can, including Mr. Sapphire, probably,” Oliver said. “Josiah Lee's ritual must have gone far enough to catch the attention of the Elder Gods, and it brought Nyarlathotep around. It's bad.”

“Well, it's for Lou to deal with, not me,” Nicole said. “I'll stay out of it. I only promised Lou that I'd protect his interests at the company, that's all. He can't expect anything more than that from me. And it has nothing to do with you, Oliver. Please, leave this stuff alone. It's not healthy to think about.”

Oliver did not look convinced. Not for the first time, Nicole felt inadequate as a parent. She still had trouble thinking of herself as a mother, and wondered how Krystal had managed it for so long. Nicole mourned her old romantic rival and friend. She hoped that she had done right by Bobby and Krystal with Oliver. Would they have preferred for her to have let Oliver join them in death? Oliver was certain neither one was a cultist. Would they hate her for letting the Devil bring their firstborn child back to life? Lou had no claim on Oliver whatsoever, but that resurrection could not fail to mark the kid. Nicole had told Oliver that he had only hit his head after the fall, but she saw the doubt in his eyes. Nicole felt that she was doing everything wrong, all the time.

“Here, let me play this game with you,” Nicole said. “Is this the war game?”

“What isn't a war game?”

Nicole looked at Oliver, but his expression was neutral. He gathered the morbid material up and returned it to his bookshelf. He handed Nicole a secondary controller and sat down beside her. Soon they were united in the virtual world, blasting their way through a horde.

** The End **


End file.
